Infinity
by YourEvilNemisisBwahaha
Summary: Rincewind and Byrony have been thrown together again! Well, the gods always did like a laugh. Now, they must combine fantastical myth and political reality in a mission to save the Disc from a megalomaniac intent on ruling all! With Enraged Mother Bears!
1. In Which There Is Dancing

_A/N: This is, in fact, the sequel to a previously written story called Jolt. Many things happen in Jolt which I'm much too lazy to explain here. If you haven't read that story, I'd advise you do so before reading this on, or you may be attacked by a severe case of confusion. But hey, I'm not the boss of you._

_I would like to dedicate this sequel to everyone who cyber-poked me into writing it. Special dedication to Dark-Tari, who gave me a reason to start and to Minimog16, who gave me a reason to finish to the end._

_Enjoy!_

INFINITY

_Like a perfume doth remain_

_In the folds where it hath lain,_

_So the thought of you, remaining_

_Deeply folded in my brain,_

_Will not leave me._

_All things leave me._

_You remain._

There is a place, on the Disc, where the gods play games with the lives of men, on a board, which is at one and the same time, a simple playing area and the whole world. Naturally the whole thing smacks of the unrealistic, but what do you expect from Gods whose idea of a culturally uplifting experience is a musical doorbell?

Now, the gods had finished their last game, which had been a rather large war somewhere in BhangBhangduk,, and were searching for a new one.

"What'll we play now?" grumbled Blind Io. He was a thunder God, and his attention span was poor and required constant stimulating. The other gods frantically began their search, because if the thunder god got sulky, then everyone got a piece of it.

"Tempest Wrecked Mariners?" suggested Anoia, Goddess of Things Stuck In Drawers.

"No, that one ends much too quickly," said Om. "What about Mighty Empires?"

"We played that _yesterday_," whined a minor goddess of plenty.

"How about Floodsh and Droughtsh?" said Offler the Crocodile God quickly, through his fangs.

"No, that's boring. Let's play Mad Kings!" exclaimed a small god, whose head-dress consisted of large rocks and threatened to cause him to topple over.

Then, a tall slim man sat at the table. Fate nodded to the other Gods, who jerked their heads reluctantly. Fate was an unpopular player, because Fate always wins. At least, Fate always wins when people stick to the rules…

"Let us play Star Crossed Lovers," he said pleasantly, his dark empty eyes surveying the now silent room.

"Er. We've lost the rules to that one," Blind Io said hesitantly, after the pause dragged on.

"No matter. I would like to issue a challenge." Fate scanned the room until he found the eyes he was looking for. They were emerald green from edge to edge.

"Lady? Would you care to play?"

As one god, the others drew back. This was an old battle between two ancient enemies, and it had a tendency to get nasty.

"As you wish." She walked forward and took her place on the other side of the board. She was called the Lady, because it is said that if you say her true name out loud, she would instantly depart.

"You will, of course, play your favourite piece?" said Fate pleasantly.

"Of course," she smiled. "Happily we have a ready-made pair of star crossed lovers. I shall play the lovers, and you shall play the forces tearing them apart, yes?"

Fate raised an eyebrow. "You misunderstand Lady," he said. "You shall play your favourite piece, and _I _shall play _mine_."

The gods craned to see the figurine that Fate held in his hand. He had never been said to favour a piece, but perhaps he never had to. The Lady stared at it.

"But that means that we will each be playing-"

"A lover. Yes, I feel it adds an extra element to the game, don't you?"

A mutter ran among the assorted gods. This was unheard of.

The Lady paused. She had a bad feeling about where this was going, but she had accepted the challenge. To back down now would be unthinkable. "How do we decide a winner?"

Fate beamed. "Why, the winner is the one whose piece _survives_ of course!"

She closed her eyes and said, almost soundlessly, "Then let us begin."

In the poignant silence, Blind Io spoke up again. Not one to let go of an idea, he exclaimed, "I _said_ we can't find the _rules_ to that one!"

The cold and empty holes that rested in the place of Fate's eyes never left the Lady's face.

"Of course we can't. There aren't any."

Then he threw the dice.

It would be better if this conversation took place at night-time. In fact, it would be better if this conversation took place in a dark secret place, while a storm raged outside and thunder filled the air with the anger of the gods…

But reality doesn't always conform to the expectations of the metaphorical watcher (who is _always_ watching), and this conversation actually took place on a veranda, in the warm summer sunshine, while those who were conversing sipped lemonade. Occasionally a butterfly fluttered past.

No, the weather didn't suit the topics of conversation at all, which went a little something like this:

"I presume everything will be guarded?"

"There will be various locks and other items of a protective nature, yes, though I rather feel that it will present a stimulating exercise for you, rather then any actual difficulty."

The young woman drummed her finger-tips on the ornately carved table. The sunlight shone in her chestnut coloured hair which, despite its intricate up-do, was fighting to be free.

"I assume you'll require me to fulfil a more…traditional role at the same time?"

Vetinari paused in the motion of bringing his glass to his lips, and delicately set it down again. "I would require your presence as the Lady of Winslow Manor and the various titles and responsibilities that come with it."

He looked at his niece, who was pondering the matter deeply. She was, for want of a better term, a wild card. She did what she pleased, when she pleased. Except, of course, when it was her uncle who was asking. She had a soft spot for this man, who was the tyrant of the most powerful city on earth, and her only blind spot in her otherwise accurate view of human nature seemed to be her conclusion that all the rumours she heard about him couldn't _possibly_ be true. Now, she was mulling over his proposition as if she hadn't already agreed in her head when he had requested a favour. Vetinari knew all this, but it was an old and much beloved charade between them, almost as often played as their games of Thud.

"So." She picked up her glass and peered into the depths of the murky lemonade, or perhaps watched the light play across the cut glass. "You want me to appear at this convention as Lady Winslow. You want me to be the diplomat, the socialite and the haughty heiress. However, at the same time, you also wish me to use this as an opportunity to do a little…breaking and entering?"

Vetinari gave a small smile. "I was thinking something more along the lines of accidental shattering and inadvertent wandering."

Byrony smiled. "That sounds _very_ doable."

"Capital!" Vetinari set his lemonade down. "Now, there is also the small matter of the location of the orb, and how you're going to get it."

"Doesn't he already know?" asked Byrony, but her attention was wandering, as it had a tendency of doing. She was following the crazy flight path of a butterfly with her emerald green eyes, and her mouth was most likely on auto-pilot.

Vetinari shook his head. "He hasn't found it yet. If he knew, then all would be lost. However-" He broke off, realising that Byrony was now watching a small bird fly in endless circles. He coughed loudly, and her attention snapped back to him while her face tried to arrange itself into en expression that would convey that she had been listening all the time.

"_However_," said Vetinari, "I'm quite certain that he's close to discovering its whereabouts. It's of vital importance we reach it before him. The forest _is_ rather large…"

Byrony nodded. "How long have we got?"

"From today? One month. Plenty of time to organise a gathering of such magnitude."

Byrony looked sceptical. "I'll take your word for it, I'm sure."

"Yes you will," agreed Vetinari, "Because I shall be doing the organising."

Byrony's face scrunched up in distress. "But I _like_ organising parties!"

Vetinari gave her a Look. Byrony's 'parties' usually consisted of carousing, rowdy behaviour and had a tendency to end up several miles from their starting point.

Byrony coughed. "But considering the importance of this gathering, I feel it would be only sensible to let you cover the essentials while I do a little…"

"Inadvertent wandering?" suggested Vetinari with a smile.

Byrony beamed. "I couldn't have put it better myself."

Ankh-Morpork!

Pearl of cities, in that it could be likened to the mucus of a mollusc!

The Big Wahoonie, an ugly and highly explosive vegetable!

City of a thousand faces and not one of them willing to lend you a dollar!

Through this vast and timeless city, a lone, bedraggled, tall and skinny figure trudged in the early hours of the morning, stomping each cobblestone underfoot as if it had done him a personal injury. His hunched shoulders belayed a deep personal angst, which tortured his brain and tore his insides apart.

Well, it was giving him _wicked_ indigestion.

Rincewind the Wizard was not, in fact, undergoing any current distressing experience other then life itself, which can be classified as very distressing indeed. Anyone who was familiar with Rincewind was aware that though he had travelled much of the Disc, and though he had (unwillingly) taken part in many adventures and met lots of new and interesting people (some of which didn't want to kill him at _all_), he was a man who coveted the quiet life. Currently employed as the Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography at the Unseen University, he enjoyed the sort of stability that comes naturally when no one else particularly wants the job you have. When he wasn't sitting in a cramped office filled with different shaped rocks and wondering vaguely what he was supposed to be doing, he also worked as the Assistant Librarian, performing such vital tasks as stamping, filing, sorting, stacking and peeling. Peeling the Librarian's bananas, that is, rather then the idea of a book with a removable skin.

The Librarian, who was a fully-grown orang-utan, had been subject to a magical accident once upon a time, and had since resisted all attempts to return him to his original form. He wasn't a bad employer, his only downside being his tendency to fling banana peels at Rincewind when he didn't treat a book to the Librarian's high standards. This happened rarely, as most of the books in the Library were very old and Rincewind treated them with the reverence one generally assigns to an elderly relative who has seen two world wars, one of which wasn't a patch on the other.

Also, mistreating a book meant that it had to be repaired in a form of book surgery, something which Rincewind hated. He fainted at the sight of glue.

Rincewind moodily kicked the ground.

He had it all, everything he had ever wanted.

So why was there something bothering him?

Little did Rincewind know that the something bothering him was, in fact, a tiny part of his memory that his subconscious had walled in self-defence. It was nestled in the inner-crevices of his psyche, giving him the mental equivalent of an annoying itch. The brain is very adept at making do with its surroundings. When a prisoner who has been locked up for thirty years is given a brief sample of freedom, he will naturally revert back to his original routine as soon as the cell bars close in on him once again. The brain makes extraordinary happenings hazy, and covers them in a film of humdrum occurrences to save us from their memory. What Rincewind experienced would have driven him mad had he been forced to pour over the memories, day after day, and his brain quickly began to stamp them down. Now, Rincewind was _aware_ that there was something in his head he wasn't addressing, but he was quite happy the way he was thank you very much. Sometimes, usually around 3a.m, he would fearfully contemplate those memories, though he wouldn't actually remember them, as it were. The strange aches in his chest he seemed to suffer when he mentally poked at the locked box did nothing to encourage a trip down memory lane. Rincewind was well aware that when you stroll down Memory Lane, you sometimes end up getting mugged in Horrific-Realisation Alley. Yes, Rincewind had lovely, sturdy mental blockades erected all around those memories.

Unfortunately, in approximately six hours, they're all about to be knocked down.

This might even be a good thing.

Somewhere in Istanzia, where most of this tale will be taking place, Byrony arrived at her childhood home for the first time in almost five years. Perhaps now would be a very good time to explain Byrony's situation. Lady Byrony Winslow was the eighth first born daughter in a line of first born daughters. This makes her the discs only known enchantress. She was a catalyst for magic, absorbing it and pumping it out again in multiple quantities. As a result, whenever she stayed in one area for a long period of time, the area in question began to develop magical flares, in which bursts of raw magic flourished and caused havoc. Magical swords melted, demons appeared and evaporated randomly and occasionally, things exploded. Because of this unusual quirk in her genetic make-up, Byrony was forced to constantly travel the Disc, never staying in one place for too long. A pair of Vetinari's dark clerks, Clancy and William, whose job generally consisted of keeping their charge out of trouble, accompanied her.

They had their work cut for them. Byrony was magnetically drawn to trouble, and rather interestingly classed it as 'fun'. As she travelled the disc, she constantly became enveloped into strange adventures that really had nothing to do with her in the first place. It was like she had an internal compass that pointed her in their direction

Bloody dump, she thought fondly as she gazed up at the impressive structure that was Winslow Manor. It was one of the largest manors on the disc and it was just perfect to accommodate the various nobles, emperors, kings, nobles, dukes, duchesses, queens, princes, princesses, barons, empresses…

I _really_ hope it's clean, she thought. And if it's not clean, then at least make it the kind of dirty that can be attributed to years of expensive furniture not being cleaned due to retaining its original...dirt.

Of course, it would be mostly clean, because of all the servants still living there. Byrony was the last in the line of Winslows, and she rarely visited the old place. The servants however, remained at Winslow Manor, ready at a moment's notice to welcome her home. In the absence of any discernible authority figures, they had more or less turned the whole Manor, which was quite big indeed, into a sort of indoor city.

After one hour Byrony was sitting at a table in the Great Hall, her head in her hands as the Head Butler listed of the staff's complaints. One month previously, Vetinari had sent a team to the Manor, to begin preparations for the party they were going to hold there.

Well, perhaps party was too small a word. They were attempting to gather all the gentry of the disc together for one fun-filled fortnight in an attempt to strengthen foreign relations. Anyone who was _anyone_ in the world of titles and royalty was coming, and the Manor need a complete overhaul to make ensure that all parts were habitable once more. This was not going down well with the staff, many of whom considered the guest rooms to be their bedrooms.

"So, the stable crew are fighting with the groundskeepers."

"Yes, m'lady."

"And the laundry room workers wo'nt have anything to do with the…the…"

"Outer-patrolmen, m'lady."

"Right. Tell me again why we have to chop down the doors to the Emerald green drawing room?" Byrony asked, her eyes taking on a glazed look.

"All the cooking team have barred themselves in, m'lady," said the Head Butler.

"And they did that…why?"

"They refuse to share sleeping quarters with the games-men, m'lady."

"Ah yes, and if this letter is accurate, they have taken a dislike to the games-men on account of-" She held up the letter. "Yes, here it is. _'On account of what they said about our Sharon last Hogswatch.'_ I see."

Byrony sat back in her chair and sighed. She really wasn't good at this lording thing. She had always tried to call in on everyone at least once a year, and had never seen any harm in the servants taking up quarters in the guest-rooms. In fact, she rather liked that the old place was so full of life and from what she remembered, she rather suspected her parents would have found the whole thing hilarious. But perhaps if she had been a bit more of a lord she wouldn't feel like she was now evicting the people who considered her family.

She sighed again. The problem was that all the different sections of the household staff were practically all related, and jobs now ran in families. The games-men were not all men, and the culinary-staff was all one extended family, presided over the head-chef, who happened to be most of the culinary staff's grandfather.

At least the maids are still all girls, she thought to herself, though she could have sworn she saw a young man in a frilly apron happily wielding a feather duster…

"Right," she said finally. "We must sort this out. A firm hand is what's needed. Er-do you think a firm hand is needed?"

"A firm hand indeed, m'lady."

"Right," she continued confidently. She stood and began to walk out of the room, pursued by the Head Butler. "I need to explain the situation and I'm sure they'll comply."

"Well, of course, If _you_ say they must move to the servants quarters they will comply immediately, m'lady. You _are_ Lady Winslow."

Byrony shook her head. Another reason she could never lord over her staff. They were loyal to a fault. She had left them alone in a giant manor filled with silverware, paintings and priceless furniture and she was fairly sure that the only thieving done would be by ol' Bess Jenkins, who raided the formidable liqueur cabinet in the kitchen to feed her hawks. Byrony never asked why the hawks needed alcohol, because she was faintly suspicious the old woman was waiting for someone to ask so she could cackle "To give them strong spirits!"

"They come under your authority and your authority only," continued the Head Butler. "They are rather insulted that the cleaning and catering team from Ankh-Morpork was sent -"

"That was a misunderstanding, not a reflection on the staff's abilities," said Byrony desperately.

"Just as you say, m'lady," continued the Head Butler smoothly. "However, they were willing to put up with them until they began ordering the household staff around."

"Well, we can't have that," murmured Byrony. They were now walking through a grand hall, surrounded by the staff, who were industriously polishing the various sculptures, paintings and priceless vases that lined the walls. She was only half listening as she tugged irritably at the sleeves of the dress she wore. Byrony was more at home in serviceable leather trousers and a sword strapped across her back, but though the staff of the manor were well aware of their ladyships idiosyncratic dressing habits, Uncle Vetinari had pointed out that practice makes perfect and who could say that some dignitaries wouldn't be arriving early?

So, she was hot, itchy and irritable. She also kept accidentally stepping on the hem every couple of steps.

"Quite so, m'lady. And may I be so bold as to point out that the Master Rowel really isn't helping the situation."

Her hair was still down though, and falling in messy chestnut waves around her shoulders. By Gods, a girl has limits-

Suddenly, she stopped dead.

"_Who_?"

It took a while for letters to get as far as the Archchancellor. The post tended to be picked up from the University gates by anyone who happened to be passing, and then left lying on a shelf somewhere or used as pipe lighter or a bookmark or, in the case of the Librarian, as bedding.

This letter, however, is making its way speedily up the Great Hall, thanks to the hurried footsteps of the messenger carrying it. It was _official_.

It was dinnertime in the University at the moment, and dinnertime for wizards tends to go on for quite some time. Anyone in the presence of a wizard soon realises this, as the average wizard looks like he should have his own orbit. They tend to be spherical, though as mentioned, this is not true in the case of Rincewind the wizard, who is currently sorting some rowdy almanacs into their assigned spaces in the library.

"Sir – you're - this is - for you," gasped the messenger, thrusting the envelope into the ArchChancellors hand.

Ridcully peered at it. "What's this? Looks a bit like a nobby invite."

A couple of ears pricked up at this point. Wizards are generally invited to events like Guild dinners, the reason being that people dislike being turned into small frogs which is what happens when you don't invite a wizard. These dinners generally consist of several courses, with dessert _and_ a cheese board.

Ridcully ripped open then envelope with his spoon and scanned the contents. "All dignitaries…blah, blah, blah…hey, does anyone know where Istanzia is?"

"Country near here, isn't it?" said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Over some mountains, or some other geography type thing."

"What? What else do you get in geography?" asked the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"Oh, polders. Horse-shoe lakes, that type of thing."

"Really? Never knew there was so much of it out there."

"What, geography?"

"Apparently," continued Ridcully loudly, "The Patrician is involved in hosting some sort of party over there, and he's requesting the attendance of a representation of Ankh-Morpork's wizardry component."

He looked up into strained faces. The wizards were torn. It was all very well going on about free food and drink, and both were _welcome_ to be _sure, _but if there was going to be actual _travelling_ involved…

"It's far too far," said the Dean firmly, a man who made up half the faculty of the Unseen University in sheer girth.

"I agree," said the Senior Wrangler. "I don't like the sound of some of the geography either. Horse-shoe lakes? The very idea!"

Ridcully, however, was still peering at the invitation. "It's being held in Winslow Manor and it's hosted by Lady Winslow. Hmm, name rings a bell there. Anyone know a Winslow? Hey, you lot! Does the name Winslow mean anything to you?"

There was a general murmur of confusion and shrugging of shoulders, until a hand went up. Ponder Stibbons, the youngest member on the faculty and head of the Inadvisably Applied Magic department cleared his throat.

"Er, I think we all know a Byrony Winslow, ArchChancellor."

Ridcully looked down at the invite again. "Good lord, is that her second name? Fancy that."

"And she's invited us to her little party? What a nice young woman. You know, I've always said that she was a valuable ally to the university," said the Senior Wrangler.

"Really?" said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Because I recall you writing that petition to have her removed from the city when all those flares -"

"All in the past," said the Senior Wrangler hurriedly. "Think of the future!"

"You know, it's not such a _little_ party," said Ridcully thoughtfully. "Invitation says its going to last a good fortnight. And," he looked up at the wizards. "We're all invited."

There was a general outcry. "What? The whole faculty?"

"I shan't go. You can't make me. I'll be killed by a wild polder!"

Ridcully ignored all this, aware that the whole faculty would go. It promised to be a party of some magnitude, and free food and drink for an entire two weeks is more then a wizard can resist, lazy or not.

Instead he was looking at the bottom of the invitation, and the hand written note from the Patrician, requesting the attendance of one very specific staff member.

"Him?" the ArchChancellor said to himself. "Why does he want _him_?"

She stood outside the study door, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It was best to start out at a neutral anger-level when dealing with Rowel. He seemed to cause levels to rise so very quickly. Raising a clenched fist, she knocked politely on the door refraining from kicking it down in _every_ respect whatsoever.

A voice called out. "Enter."

_Enter_, thought Byrony as she gritted her teeth into something resembling a smile. _He actually says _enter_. If I kill him now, mankind can only get less anally retentive._

She pressed down on the ornate handle and the door opened with a squeak. Sitting at a desk in the centre of the dark room was a young man who seemed to be concentrating intently on something. The room was dark because the heavy red velvet curtains were pulled closed but the young man had a tall oil lamp lit right beside him, and a pair of large lenses on his face which served to magnify whatever it was that he was focusing on.

"Do excuse me ladyship, I'll be but a moment."

"Hello Rowel. I didn't know you were here."

"Yes, it was to be a surprise."

"It's a _lovely_ surprise," lied Byrony, her bright voice neatly covering her distaste. "I come home and you're here. In my house. You're here in my house."

There was a long and very emphatic pause.

"Rowel?"

"Yes, Ladyship?"

"_Why_ are you here in my house?"

Rowel straightened up a little, enabling Byrony to see the desk in front of him. The last butterflies wings trembled weakly as he pushed the pin through it. He then slammed the glass case it was inside closed, and pushed it away as if there was nothing still alive to be taken into consideration. Byrony looked at the case with a longing to smash it open and to free all the flying pieces of colour inside, but her attention was snapped back to the man in front of her.

"Why, I received an invite to the ball, of course," said Rowel, in his horribly nasal voice, which somehow managed to convey a general vibe of self-satisfaction.

Byrony nodded. "Yes," she said slowly. "But the ball, Rowel, and this is the important bit, the actual ball isn't for quite a while

_You obnoxious little git you_, she added. As long as she was talking to herself, she might as well vent some feelings.

"My dear cousin," said Rowel politely, as he took off the lenses and replaced his small gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose. "Are we not relatives? Didn't your father, may he rest in peace, grant me free passage of your land?" He smiled _all the time_, a horrible little half-smile that hinted that he knew much more then you and incidentally, had just found out that he was actually better then you as well.

"Yes, but that wasn't for _you_," said Byrony. "That was for your _father_."

_Who happens to be a sweet old man and not a total megalomaniac, you bloody loony._

"I believe it was in the Rowel family name," said Rowel, with a smoothness that reminded you of oil-slicks.

"No, it was for _Lord_ Rowel." Byrony grinned. "You're still _Master_ Rowel, aren't you Nicky? Isn't that right?"

Nicholas Rowel's smile twitched. "You always were a joker, cousin." He put one hand up to his jet-black hair which was slicked back against his skull. "While I was always the one who had to reign in your schemes once they got out of hand."

"Like that time that I let out that bull-"

"Quite."

"And then all those chickens-"

"Indeed."

"Honestly, I was only twelve. I didn't think that manure-"

"Yes."

"I know I was on the bull, but I couldn't control it!"

"As you have previously said."

"I mean, I didn't know you were _there_, and then all the haystacks-"

"Yes," hissed Rowel through his tight little smile. "I think you've made your point."

"Oh, it was your point," said Byrony cheerfully. "I was just helping it to sink in."

"Thank you, I'm sure."

"Which is what you did into the manure."

Rowel cleared his throat. "I have always felt, however, that despite our differences, we would be very well matched. I came here early, Byrony, with the express intention of," he flashed some eerily white teeth, "Getting to know you better."

_You lying little bastard_, thought Byrony almost admirably. _I'm here to stop _you_ from carrying out your little plan and you're here because you know why I'm here and even though _we both know this_, you're still going to try and pull that card._

She felt her gorge rise as she contemplated what 'that card' meant. It was perfect really. Rowel knew she was trying to stop him, so he was going to stick to her like glue under the guise of the protective suitor. It made total sense because, though Byrony was loathe to admit it, from a social point of view they really were a perfect match. The Winslows and the Rowels were two of the Disc's oldest and wealthiest families, the Winslows being the more elite of the two. Her father and Lord Rowel had been fast friends, and Byrony had no doubt that if her parents had been very different people (i.e not dead ones) with old-fashioned views, she would have been dragged kicking and screaming down the aisle a long time ago.

"How is Lord Rowel?" she asked suddenly. He was such a sweet man, where did his son come from?

Rowel twitched again. "In very good health, but unable to leave his estate, alas."

"Oh? Why ever not?"

"He's currently bed-ridden."

Byrony frowned. "That doesn't sound like he's in the best of health to _me_."

"Yes," said Rowel.

Byrony opened her mouth to pursue the matter, but then closed it again. It was common knowledge that Rowel wanted to inherit the lordship more then he favoured his family. Perhaps when he said 'bed-ridden', he didn't mean 'by choice'.

"Well," she said finally. "Welcome to Winslow Manor." She turned and made for the door, resolutely not looking at the glass-cases that lined the walls.

"I look forward to making it my home," said Rowel, and after a beat that was just a little too long, he added, "For the duration of my stay, of course."

Unfortunately, all Byrony's diplomatic reserves for the day had been used up.

She slammed the door.

Rincewind stood before the faculty. He had spent many a day as a student in such a position, generally on the days that he managed to achieve a high mark in his exams simply by guessing the answers. But he wasn't being interrogated now, oh no. Now it seemed they wanted him to go to some ghastly far-flung location and attend some sort of convention or something.

Right, thought Rincewind bitterly. I'll go, and I'll wander off and there'll be this…cave or something with a little old man and he'll say 'you have been chosen for a great quest of greatness!', and he'd be off again, being chased, shot at and generally wished dead.

"Er. No. No thanks," he said. The faculty began that disgruntled muttering you hear when you're around a group of rather large gentlemen for any length of time. After all, Rincewind was passing up on the opportunity of a lifetime! Didn't he realise he it was a miracle that he was being invited at all? He wasn't even a proper faculty member, and he was _far_ too thin and scruffy.

"Well now, that's perfectly acceptable," said Ridcully loudly. "The man doesn't want to go, do you Rincething?"

"Wind. No I don't. I'll just stay here thanks, if it's all the same. You know, I'll guard the books and sort my rocks and…things."

"That's fine! Fine!" said Ridcully hurriedly. "No problems there! When a man has his mind made up, there's no going back, am I right chaps?" He turned and looked at the faculty, who murmured their half-hearted agreement. "And if a man doesn't feel the need to mingle with the upper echelons of society, then no reason on the Disc can persuade him otherwise."

"That's right" said Rincewind nervously, glancing at the door. "So if you don't mind I'll just be-"

"I mean, what's the big deal about these _upper echelons_ anyway?"

Rincewind began to edge away. "Yes my feelings exac-"

"Like _the Patrician_, Dukes, diplomats, princes. Who needs them?"

"I'll just go and--"

"And they only get invited because they're all related, it's ridiculous."

"Is that right? I'll just get the…get the…" Rincewind now had his hand firmly closed around the door handle. The wizards were watching him like they expected him to perform some kind of trick. A few were watching Ridcully with bemused expressions on their faces.

"Even THE PATRICIAN is going, or so I hear."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, don't say I said so, but I hear tell that THE PATRICIAN received an invite because a FAMILY MEMBER is hosting the gathering."

"Er-"

"But you couldn't pay me to go, oh no!"

"Oh no?"

"I say, even though THE PATRICIAN is going to be there because SOME MEMBER OF HIS FAMILY is hosting, I still wouldn't…be…"

Ridcully stared at Rincewind, who was standing there, totally bewildered.

"You…er…still don't want to go?"

Rincewind thought back on the various points that the ArchChancellor had just made. None of them had been particularly persuasive.

"Er. No. No I don't."

Ridcully gave up his mangled attempt at subtlety. "Vetinari's niece is _hosting_ the event, you damn fool! _Byrony_!"

At that point, the rest of the world ceased to exist for Rincewind. All he was aware of was a distinct ringing in his ears.

"Well, you were her guide around the city once, weren't you? Weren't you? Rincewind? I say, is he quite all right there?"

The Lecturer in Recent Runes sidled up to Rincewind, who had turned an interesting shade of grey. An experimental hand was waved in front of his face, but Rincewind was, for all practical purposes, no longer in the room. He had been catapulted back into the past, thanks to the repressed memories, which had come swarming back to him as soon as the key word had been said.

_Byrony_.

Her every word, every move, every smile, every frown and every touch had been seared into his brain. He could remember every detail, every minute, every second.

_No wonder I blocked it_, he thought frantically_. I'd have gone mad!_

But another, deeper and less accessed part of him said: No wonder I blocked it. Look at what I lost.

So, this was how, two weeks later on a fine, if rather chilly spring morning, Rincewind found himself amongst the wizards waiting outside the gates of the University. The wizards were not exactly in a good mood as the journey required an early start and for a wizard, morning generally began around noon-ish. There was much shuffling, grumbling and rubbing of sleep out of eyes. Rincewind was staring ponderously off into the cold blue of the morning sky. He was wondering if he was mad.

What was he doing? Was he mad?

Er. Well, he was making a journey he didn't want to make to go somewhere he didn't want to go to do a lot of things he didn't want to do, all on the basis of a few memories which were coming out of a head which was, let's face it, not the most reliable.

Yep, he decided wearily. Totally barking. Maybe I can get a seat beside the bursar and we can compare hallucinations.

"When are the damn coaches going to get here?" grumbled the Dean. "I can't feel m'feet!"

Ridcully, who was sorting his hunting gear now that he was aware of the polders, waved him into silence. (Mustrum Ridcully did a lot for rare species. For one thing, he kept them rare). For the ArchChancellor, morning began at least an hour before whatever time it was that you got up at, and he liked to let people know that. The Dean's incessant whining was beginning to get on his nerves.

"It'll be here soon, I said. And it's not _coaches_, its coach. Singular"

The Senior Wrangler came to attention, causing the Lecturer in Recent Runes (who had been dozing on his shoulder) to fall over.

"ArchChancellor, I must protest!" he protested. "You don't expect to fit the entire faculty into one coach, do you? Er," he looked at Ricully. "Do you?

Ridcully was famed for his cost saving measures in the University. It was widely known that he wouldn't replace a writing pad until it had been completely filled in on both sides of every page, and the only way to get a new pencil was if you produced the stub of the old one.

"Of course I don't," he said.

The wizards slumped in relief.

"I just told Glod from Glod's coaches that we'd test one of his new ideas for a cheaper coach fare."

The wizards stood bolt upright once more.

"And, er, what new idea would this?" inquired Ponder Stibbons nervously. He was holding a velvet case in his hands. Rincewind eyed it suspiciously. He didn't trust Stibbons, who was too clever by half and went around talking about quarks. Rincewind felt that if Ponder wanted to talk about ducks, then there were plenty of people in the city who would oblige him, but a university was no place for wildlife!

"Oh, it's this new idea of his," continued the ArchChancellor airily. "Its sort of a big coach, doncherknow. A _big_ coach," he explained enthusiastically. "So a lot of people can travel at once. Makes tickets cheaper too," he said firmly, indicating that that was The End Of It.

"Fine," said the Dean sulkily. "That means we're all going to be stuck in a coach together for three days. We'll miss the opening ball at this rate."

"I explained to Glod about that, he said not to worry, he'd take care of it. A fine ma- dwarf, if I ever met one."

Take care of it? Rincewind didn't like the sound of that. He'd met Glod, a dwarf hell-bent on setting up his own coaching service. He was a dwarf who wasn't averse to stealing a horse, stripping it down for parts, painting it a different colour and selling it on.

Rincewind pushed the thought from his mind, and turned back to where Ponder Stibbons was standing with the velvet case. He was holding it very tightly, as if it was valuable.

"What's in there?" enquired Rincewind, not really wanting to know, just wishing to alleviate the terrible boredom.

"Oh, er-" Ponder hugged the case a little tighter. "Well, I suppose I can tell you. I finished Byr- Lady Winslow's modulator!" He pushed his glasses further up his nose and continued excitedly. "I told the Patrician, and I think we've been invited to the ball as a _ruse_ so I can give it to her!"

A little more then a year ago, Byrony had visited Ankh-Morpork, and had hired Rincewind as her guide. Her presence had caused magical flares all over the city, and she had eventually been kidnapped by a religious maniac who believed she was to be the cause of the end of the disc. He had planned to use Curwen's Modulator to suck up the magic in her body until she was dead, and then let it explode. He didn't succeed, obviously. Vetinari had then presented Ponder with the task of moderating the modulator so it only sucked up the flares that Byrony gave off, as opposed to all the magic in her body.

"May I see it?" asked Rincewind icily. He had his own deep, secret idea as to why the faculty had been invited, one which he wouldn't have voiced even if threatened with a big stick, and didn't like Stibbons take on events one tiny bit.

_Oh ,it's a _ruse_, eh?_ he thought furiously. _It's a ruse for _you_ to meet Byrony, is it? And I heard that little slip with her name! Don't think I didn't! _

Ponder clicked open the case, and revealed its contents to Rincewind. Inside was a smaller version of the original modulator, which had been a cube about the size of a clenched fist. It was, like the original, plated with gold but Rincewind couldn't help noticing that it looked a lot prettier then the modulator in his memory.

"Are those…_engravings_?"

"Well, yes but–"

"Why are there little multicoloured stones on the sides?"

"I just–"

"That looks like a gold chain to _me_," said Rincewind accusingly.

"Girls _like_ that sort of thing," said Ponder defensively. He closed the case. "Now she can wear it as a necklace."

"You needn't have, I'm sure," sniffed Rincewind.

"I _wanted_ to," said Ponder.

The two wizards glared at each other. Battle-lines had been drawn.

"Ah," said Ridcully brightly. "I think I hear the coach coming!"

It certainly was coming. Rincewind turned away from his new worst enemy just in time to see it skid around a corner on two wheels. He whimpered a little.

"My word, it _is_ quite big, isn't it?" said Recent Runes.

"Fast too," noted Senior Wrangler approvingly. "I'm guessing Glod fed something to those horses."

Ridcully clapped his hands together. "Big and fast, eh? Just what we wanted!"

They watched as it barrelled down the street, coming closer and closer.

"Er, yes. Very fast," said the Senior Wrangler, who sounded a lot less approving and a lot more uncertain.

They stood watching the large unwieldy coach as it advanced. The rumbling of the wheels was a lot closer now, and there didn't seem to be a driver…

"Should we move?" volunteered Rincewind.

The wizards threw themselves to either side of the great gates of the university just as the coach seemed to attempt to stop. The horses leg's reared and locked and the entire structure spun 360 degrees, while making a high pitched squealing sound. At last, it came to a halt, and the wizards got up, brushed themselves down and tried to pretend the last thirty seconds hadn't happened.

"I don't believe it!" thundered Ridcully, as they made their way over to where the coach had stopped. "No driver! We all could have been killed!"

"Or only some of us, perhaps," said the Chair of Indefinite studies longingly.

Ridcully rapped the side of the coach with his staff, and they all jumped when a seemingly incongruous pile of rags on the drivers seat sat up and said "'Ello, Boss!"

"Who are you?" demanded the ArchChancellor.

"'Ang on, I got's it ere," the pile grew arms which began to pat its sides down until it produced a small set of cards. Two beady eyes peered at said cards intently.

"Wel-come to…yer coaching…_h_experience," it read laboriously. "I am yer driver Insert Name Here." The face frowned. "Wassit talkin' about?" it complained. "That aint my name. It shouldn't try to tell me my name. I _knows_ my name. I can even _write_ it!" it said proudly.

"Well," it amended. "A bit."

"You're our driver?" said Ridcully incredulously.

"I'm yer driver all right. Glod said you wanna get somewhere fast. Well, there aint no other driver in this city faster'n Hinkle.

"Hinkle?"

"Thass my name," explained the pile of rags. "I can _write_ it. These 'orses ave been fed on my secret mixture too, so's they run faster. This journey normally takes three days, right? Right? I can 'ave you there in _six hours_! All thanks to my secret mixture."

"What's in it?" asked Ponder.

The pile of rags drew itself up to its full height, which was about quarter of an inch taller then it's original one. "That," it said haughtily. "Is a _secret_. Thass why I called it a _secret_ recipe. So people _know_." He peered at the wizards below, somehow managing to convey in his mere expression that he expected educated gentlemen like themselves to not ask such stupid questions.

"Well?" he asked irritably. "Are yer gettin' on or what?"

It appeared they were. They mutely filed into the coach, and as soon as the last foot had lifted off the ground, Hinkle had cracked the whip and they were away. It was a very large coach, big enough for a sort of a rickety table in the middle.

"Curious fellow," said Ridcully weakly, as the coach shuddered away, already picking up an unholy speed as its driver cackled away to himself.

"We're all going to die," said the Dean firmly.

"Now, now," said Ridcully, as Rincewind privately agreed with the Dean. "Let's keep spirits up! We should use this trip as an opportunity to develop inter-faculty relations."

"To what?" asked Recent Runes, who looked alarmed.

"Get to know one another better," translated the Senior Wrangler.

"Oh. Oh good. I thought- well, er. Never mind."

"And how do you propose we do that?" asked the Chair.

"We'll play a game," replied Ridcully triumphantly. "I asked Stibbons to knock one up for the very purpose. Come on lad, what did you come up with?"

"Well, you didn't give me much time sir, so it's rather lucky I had an idea already that I was hoping to develop." There was a flurry of robes as Ponder sorted through his carry on bag. Rincewind sighed. He wondered how the cleaning staff of the University was dealing with the Luggage. No doubt it would make him pay when he returned, but he had elected to leave it behind, for obvious reasons. Aside from the fact that it wouldn't fit on the luggage rack, there was also the way the other wizards went into mild hysterics whenever it was near.

"Aha!" With a flourish, Ponder pulled out a cardboard box, with bright and cheery letters painted on the front. The wizards leaned forward.

"_Exclusive Possession_?"

The soldier trudged through the empty swamp.

No need to give him a name, he won't be with us for long…But know this:

He didn't want to be here. It was an order, and You Had To Follow Orders.

He was cold, and tired. According to certain people he was one of the best, but he was sick and tired of what he was doing, and all he wanted to do know was go home to a blazing fire and hold his wife tighter then he had ever held her before…

His boots rose and fell with sticky _shlooping_ noises, and he swore as he struggled comically to free one boot while balancing precariously on one leg. (This always happens. There's probably a rule or something about it.) The fog hung low and heavy on the water in the distance. As the soldier made his way to it, he became increasingly aware that he was going to have to look for it in a _lake_.

An actual _lake_.

This was the end, it really was. Pulling his heavy bones, he waded through the fog until he was knee high and surveyed the area. A regular individual would perhaps have given up at this point, given the magnitude of the lake and the size of the item that was to be located, but this was not a regular individual.

He continued to wade out, extracting various items of mean metallic leanness as he did so.

Smiling grimly to himself, he prepared to search-

Something closed around his ankle and _pulled._

He was yanked under the surface of the water without a ripple.

There weren't even any bubbles.

He didn't come back up.

"It's your roll, ArchChancellor," said Ponder.

"Hold it, hold it a minute before he rolls. It says here I'm on Treacle Mine road."

"Well?"

"_Well_, I was in the Dolly Sisters a minute ago. It's a good forty minute walk to Treacle Mine road, whatever way you look at it."

Ponder pinched the bridge of his nose. "_No_, Dean. It's _hypothetical._"

"It is?"

"_Yes_."

"Well then I shan't touch any more of the pieces!"

"_No_," said Ponder desperately, "It's not a disease, it means that–"

"Stibbons," said the ArchChancellor with a calculating look in his eye. "What do I need to buy these large houses?"

"Uh…You need four small houses on every lot of the same colour, ArchChancellor."

"What? Whatever for? I don't want to be bothered with the great unwashed. _And_ I happen to like having enough room for all my hunting gear, thank you. Give me some of the big houses, there's a good lad."

Ponder tried to regain control of the game. "No sir, you see the _rules_ clearly state-"

"I say," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes irritably. "Are we playing or not?"

The carriage shook, and there was a flurry of money, red green and yellow bills blowing in every direction.

"Ook!"

"Rincewrench! Close that window man! It won't? Then put the Bursar in front of it."

"Er. The Bursar _is_ playing, ArchChancellor," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies reproachfully.

"So?" said Ridcully irritably. He had been _this_ close to swiping one of the big houses when Stibbons had been looking the other way. "Man can play standing up, can't he? Rincething! It's your roll!"

Rincewind rolled. The faculty leaned over the board.

"Four, eh?" said Ridcully. "Now where does that put you? That doesn't put you on Turnwise Alley, does it? That doesn't mean you have to pay me, let's see, three hundred and fifty dollars by any chance?"

With bad grace, Rincewind irritably tossed the money at him. "Good, good," said Ridcully happily. "Wonderful doing business with you!"

"Can I put houses here?" asked the Senior Wrangler.

"No," said Ponder wearily. "That's the Post Office. You can't build there."

"Ah," said the Senior Wrangler with a sly look. "It just so happens though, that I know this chap on the City Board of Planning Permission, so I could give him a quick call-"

"_No_."

"Ook?"

"Bursar, where's your piece?"

"Here it is!" said the Bursar cheerfully.

"In your mouth. Excellent."

Rincewind watched the game, fascinated. In the olden days, wizards had struggled for power, until they realised that checking your porridge every morning was no way to live, and that it was more fun to cut your enemies dead with a look then to actually cut them dead. They gossiped and spread malicious rumours about one another, and called it inter-faculty relations. Now it looked like Stibbons had created game that combined a wizard's love for the culmination of power while stabbing their colleagues in the back – metaphorically of course.

Now if they could just get a grasp of the rules…

"Count me over eleven places, Librarian."

"Ook."

"No, that's not my piece, that's my _house_."

"Ook!"

"He says they're the same colour."

"What's this little house doing on the Watchhouse space? I thought we couldn't put houses on those spaces! Stibbon's you said we couldn't put houses on those spaces!"

"Uh, Bursar, I don't think those the dice that you're shaking."

"Oh, leave him. What's the difference? Ah, Bursar, I see you've rolled…an acorn. Good chap."

"What?"

"Your roll Librarian."

Using an arm shake that only a prehensile creature could manage, the Librarian threw the die onto the board with a neat flick.

"Amazin'," said the ArchChancellor happily. "We've been playin' this game of Stibbons's for over four hours and the Librarian has managed to land on Tin Lid Alley almost every time. His one and only property."

"Ook."

"He says it's all in the wrist," volunteered Rincewind.

"Runes, it's your roll." The Lecturer in Recent Runes rolled.

"What's this? An Opportunity card?"

"What's it say? What's it say?"

"You Have Been Appointed Chairman of The Board: Pay Every Player – bugger!"

"_Who_ put a big house on The Palace? You can't put a house on The Palace!" Sulkily, the Dean took back the house.

"Ah, Stibbons seems to have landed on one of my vast holdings," said Ridcully, who had managed to snaffle a large house at last. "I'd say you owe me – oh, two hundred dollars should cover it."

In the corner of the large carriage, Rincewind curled up, and pulled his hat over his eyes; they wouldn't miss him. The squabbling of the wizard's died away as he retreated into his head. His heavy lids closed, and he surrendered to darkness filled with only one face…

"Quick," whispered the Dean. "Take his money!"

Yes, thought Rincewind sourly. That sounded about right.

Some distance away, Byrony stood in front of a full-length mirror. She looked at herself critically, though it wasn't to check how attractive her clothing appeared. She was clad fully in black, and her hair was pulled back into a plait. She was wearing interesting boots, which came to her knee and had an assortment of metal hooks on the tips. Around her waist was a sturdy belt, which was lined with small secret-looking silver things and slung over her shoulder was a length of very thin, dark coloured rope.

Nervously, she glanced at the clock. Timing was crucial, and she couldn't be seen dressed like this. As far as any of the guests knew, she was simply the young Lady Winslow, holding this _delight_ful gathering to bring unity to the disc once more. Only a _Winslow_ could pull off a party of such magnitude!

That image might be spoiled slightly by the array of lock-picks she was slotting into her belt. Downstairs, a diversion was about to take place, involving champagne, fireworks and doves that would ensure her absence would go unnoticed, and that no one would be looking at the wall she was about to climb down, or the fifth storey window that she was about to break into.

Walking over to the window, she saw that there were still guests on the grounds, enjoying the golden evening sunlight.

She watched as the social niceties were played out below her, with men kissing the hands of the ladies and the ladies playfully tapping the arms of the men with their fans. She rolled her eyes – she found the antics of the upper class vaguely nauseating.

Yes, all right, she _was_ one, sort of…but only by birth.

Come on, come _on_, she thought impatiently. How long does it take to pretend that it's good taste to bring your mistress _and_ your wife along?

Suddenly the door opened, and she nearly swallowed her tongue in shock.

"Don't _do_ that," she said, clutching her heart.

"I'd apologise, but we don't have time," said Drumknott quickly. Byrony pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh ye gods…Drumknott, her uncle's uptight secretary, was used to working in the controlled environment of the Palace. Here, surrounded by intrigue and hidden deeds, he was so tense that Byrony fancied you could play his nerves like a violin. "Everything all right?" she asked sweetly.

"No, everything is not _all right_. Are you ready? Is your equipment ready? Do you know what you're doing?"

"Doing?" asked Byrony with a confused look on her face. "I was going to get a glass of wine–"

"_Dressed like that_?" said Drumknott in a whispery shriek.

"Would you care to join me?" asked Byrony happily. My, listen to those nerves twang!

"You _can't_ get a glass of wine–"

"Oh? How about port?"

"No!"

"Whiskey?"

"_No_!"

"Gin?"

"Listen," said Drumknott. "In fifteen minutes you have to drop down the–"

"Rum?"

"_Stop that_!"

Byrony grinned. Nothing like tweaking a brittle person to ease some of your own tension. She hoisted the rope onto her shoulder, and clipped some clamps onto her belt.

"Drumknott," she said seriously, adjusting her belt while she spoke. "This was nice, but I really don't have time to go for a drink with you, you should know that. Honestly, you _must_ know that in fifteen minutes I have to drop down the wall of the West Wing."

She patted the furious Drumknott on the shoulder. "But maybe another time, okay?"

Then she swept out of the room, into a hallway devoid of prying eyes. Her focus shifted, and she was no longer the girl who had teased the secretary until he had twitched. She was a creature of the other side of the law, a creature of broken glass and night-time deeds.

Now, time to go do lots of things, which were enjoyable, exhilarating and, above all, _illegal_.

"Of course, when we get there, there's bound to be a welcoming committee of sorts," said the Senior Wrangler importantly. It was four hours later, and there carriage was finally nearing Winslow Manor, which lay almost on the border between Ankh-Morpork and Istanzia, and liable to receive both types of weather norms. The sun was setting, and streams of heavy orange sunlight filled the carriage. The Librarian was dozing on the Luggage rack, and the ArchChancellor was cleaning one of his rifles. The rest of them were contemplating their destination, with the exception of the Bursar, who was contemplating the air three inches to the left of anyone's head.

"Do you think so?" asked Ponder, while gathering up the Exclusive Possession pieces. It was definitely too long, he thought wearily. The Dean had won in the end, and then had been quite put-out to discover that the money they had been playing with was not, in fact, legal tender. He thrown a tantrum and threatened everyone with fire-balls which, in the confined space of the carriage, had nicely singed Rincewind's eyebrows.

"Hah," the Dean said murderously from beneath his hat. "And what would you know of welcoming committees? Does mummy give you one when you go home at Hogswatch, then?"

"Yes," said the Senior Wrangler loudly. "I'm sure we'll be the main attraction there."

"Oh?" The Lecturer in Recent Runes turned away from the window. "Aren't there going to be, well, princes and things?"

"And?"

"Well, I'd assume they'd be the main attraction, really."

"We are the masters of magic, gentlemen!" said the Senior Wrangler importantly. "The same magic that holds the disc _together_, mind you. Our stature by far outranks that of mere princes and whatnot."

Rincewind rolled his eyes, but his heart was thumping furiously. They were about to arrive, and any minute he was going to see her again. Of course, he thought to himself, I'm just looking forward to seeing an _old friend._ All this increase of heart rate and rushing of blood to my face has nothing to do with anything. I'm just…motion sick. Yes, that's it! Motion sickness! It explains the nausea too.

Basically, Rincewind had spent the long carriage ride contemplating the world and his place in it. He was a wizard, he decided, and one of the things that wizards most definitely do not do was consort with young women. If Rincewind did consort with a young woman, he would be doing something a wizard would never do. Ergo, he would not be a wizard.

_So consorting is out then?_ asked a little voice.

Consorting is out, thought Rincewind firmly.

_Not even a little consort?_ it wheedled.

Shut up.

"We're here!" cried the Senior Wrangler, as the cart shuddered to a halt. "Everyone get ready for waves of adulation!"

"Oh? Adulation? Actually," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "I always thought that was a spice. You know, like Frankincense?"

"Wasn't he that fellow in Uberwald?"

"Enough!" bellowed Ridcully. "If the Senior Wrangler is right, which I rather doubt, then we are about to step out in front of a crowd, gentlemen. Try to look a bit dignified, eh?"

The wizards puffed themselves up. If there's one thing a wizard can do, it's dignified. Soon Rincewind was pressed up against the side of the carriage to escape the rapidly inflating egos.

"All right then," said Ridcully, wrapping his hand around the door-handle. "On three. One…two… _three_!"

There is a joke, which describes a number of elephant's abilities to fit into a vehicle of much smaller stature then the elephants themselves. Generally, this joke has baffled mankind, and is among many of the unanswerable questions we plague ourselves with. Now, while it would be unfair to compare the wizards to that particular animal, considering that the Dean made up a large part of the body of men, the comparison would definitely shed light upon that age-old question.

They burst out, staggered a little, and then regained their composure magnificently, with much huffing and adjusting of robes. The Librarian clambered out after them, with Ponder and Rincewind carrying the Bursar. (He was going through one of his plank-like stages…in which he was like a plank)

"Behold!" cried the Senior Wrangler. "We, the mages of Ankh-Mor –"

"There's no one here," said Ridcully wearily as he adjusted his hat. "Give it up, there's a good chap."

Ridully spoke the truth. The wide grounds of Winslow manor were impeccably groomed, and dotted with expensive looking, if also rather ugly, garden art. There were little candles dotted on the lawn, which glowed in the light of the sunset and a few peacocks, which were tethered with gold chains, strutted between them. It was beautiful.

It was also deserted.

"Where's the adulation?" asked the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Do we get it in a bottle, or what?"

"Try to keep up, Runes."

If one looked within the large windows of the front of the manor, there seemed to be a party in full swing. The crowd was enjoying Byrony's distraction immensely, some aided by the large amount of alcohol available.

"Is that the ball?" asked Ponder interestedly.

"No," said Rincewind importantly. "That won't start until midnight." He should know. He had spent hours poring over the invite. "I expect that's just the upper-classes living normally that is. I expect that's what they do in their free time."

Ponder took in the scene. "Gosh," he said.

"Well," said the Dean pompously. "If they don't think we're worth coming out to see, then their jolly well about to change their minds!"

He threw out his arms, pushed back his sleeves…and summoned a fire-ball. The next few seconds seemed to go very slowly.

Byrony, as previously mentioned, was an enchantress, the eighth first daughter of a first daughter. A catalyst to magic, she enhanced any magic in the surrounding area. This magic tended to build up, resulting in the flares which grew larger and larger the longer Byrony stayed in a particular area. Any magic spell cast would also increase hugely in potency, a fact that did not seem to occur to the Dean as he made the largest fireball he could possibly conjure.

Rincewind and Ponder made eye-contact, and as one man, pounced the Dean. They knocked him to the ground just as the ball of roaring flare, which seemed as big as the sun itself, shot up into the sky. The crowd inside finally noticed it, and spilled out from the open doors onto the lawn to enjoy the spectacle.

"You idiot!" shrieked Rincewind, flailing at the Dean, who was lying on the ground with his entire front a fetching soot colour.

"I on'y made a li'l one…" he said blearily.

The ball of flame finally reached the peak of its arc, and all the upturned faces watched it as it hurdled through the night air…in the direction of the distant clacks tower.

The explosion was _quite_ spectacular, and the crowd burst into spontaneous applause.

"I say, was that planned?" asked one lord, his perfectly powdered face puzzled.

"Oh, yes," sniffed another knowledgeably. "The Winslow's _always_ have the best parties."

"Well!" said Ridcully, clapping his hands together satisfactorily. "That turned out well, eh?"

Rincewind couldn't believe it. He had just caught sight of her, after scanning the crowd furiously. There she is, he thought, awed, as he watched the woman who coveted his dreams. She's here in my actual presence. She's really here. I'm going to talk to her, to see her again. She's here. She's really, really here! She…she…

Oh shit. She's on the roof.

Byrony was not, in fact, on the roof in question. She was actually suspended several storeys above the ground on the side of the building. She had been about to do a little accidental shattering and inadvertent wandering into a conveniently placed window on the fifth floor of the building when the wizards had arrived, creating an inconvenient and more diverting distraction then the one Byrony had arranged.

_Damn! That was one _big_ fireball._

Now she was suspended on the side of the building in full view of the greatest families of the Disc, about to break into a diplomat's office. She suspected the old "_oh silly me, I seem to be lost!"_ wouldn't cut it here, especially since she had a complete set of lock-picks strapped to her waist.

This was not good. She could not, _could not_, be seen. But it would take too long to climb back up, and the wall in front of her did not currently host the conveniently placed window on the fifth floor that she had been making her way to. It didn't hold any window at all, and a movement towards one could alert the crowd below to her presence.

Her boots scraped against the wall as she pressed herself to it, easing against the straining rope of the harness, which was cutting into her shoulder. The clamps on her belt jingled a little as she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cold stone of the building and wrapped her fingers around a convenient piece of architecture. Okay…She had to get off this wall _now,_ before the accumulating masses looked up and noticed her, and only one option seemed to be currently viable.

Byrony glanced down. It was quite a drop. Well, she thought to herself, at least there are bushes.

It wasn't much of a consolation. She took a deep breath, horribly aware that it might be her last.

Swiftly and a tad reluctantly, Byrony cut the rope that tethered her to the side of the building.

There was a brief cry of "Ooooooooohhhhhhshhhhhhiiii-" which ended abruptly. It was only audible to those who were listening for it, and this was probably just as well.

Rincewind went white and opened his mouth. The scream he was preparing would have come out if not for the firm grip of the hand placed on his arm.

"Don't," said Lord Vetinari, all the while maintaining a pleasant smile on his face. "Your acknowledgement could be the ruination of us all."

"She just fell off a building!" hissed Rincwind, swallowing the scream for later. "She could be in need of medical attention! Her fall could be the ruination of her spine!"

Lord Vetinari increased his grip on Rincewind's arm, cutting off circulation to various fingers. "She _will _survive."

Meanwhile, Rincewind thought:_ Who is it that you are trying to reassure here_?

Vetinari continued "Her kind tend to be… more resilient then most. Later, you will need to find to her. I would trust no other. This entire affair must be carried out in the utmost secrecy, do you understand?"

Rincewind merely nodded. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore.

At this time, a lone dark figure was stumbling down into a deep cavern. The stone ground which was illuminated by his torch seemed to be a deep red, and the air around his was hot and stifling.

There, just ahead was a tall plinth accessible by walking up steep stairs, carved into the very rock.

The soldier knew what he was looking for, and like his team-mate, he was one of the best.

He was about to get further then his team-mate had.

Unfortunately, this will not be much of a consolation.

He climbed the steps, though they seemed to go on forever. When he reached the top, he stretched out a grimy, dirt streaked hand and-

And the torch flamed, and the fire grew higher and higher, and hotter and hotter…

After a little bit, some ashes floated gently to the ground.

It was a little later, and the entire faculty was inside the grand hall, being plied with drinks- Especially in the case of the Dean, who had not yet regained his power of speech. Well, the entire faculty was inside, except for one easily missed member.

Rincewind felt ill. He had scurried over to Byrony's point of descent as soon as possible while avoiding various diplomats who were a little worse for drink. He had rounded the final corner, and then had been unable to move another step as the shock he felt upon viewing the scene before him rooted him to the spot.

He wasn't sure what he had been _expecting_, but his brain had done its party trick of blocking bad images associated with Byrony from his conscious mind, so he was quite unprepared for the scene before him.

Byrony was splayed like a rag doll amongst the bushes, practically invisible if you didn't know she was there. The only noticeable body part was her left arm, which was flung out from under the bush, like a faint plea for help. Rincewind fell to his knees at her side.

"Byrony?" He gently picked up the hand attached to that arm, which was cold and wrongly limp.

"Byrony, I'm here. Er- Rincewind is who I mean," he added, aware of the fact that it had been over a year and a half, and who was to say that she still remembered him? Actually, to be fair, who was to say she'd remember _anything_ after her little adventure off the side of a building.

Bloody Vetinari! Though Rincewind only said it inside his own head, he said it loudly. What was the Patrician thinking? She was _breakable_, dammnit!

Rincewind patted her wrist vaguely. Should he be doing something? Supporting her head or something?

Resuscitation?

Mouth to mou– no. Er. No.

He was supposed to wait.

Rincewind looked down at her pale face, which stood out starkly in the dark night, and vowed not to move until the person Vetinari had mentioned came. He would remain even if the sun crashed into the earth, even if the seas rose to drown them all, even if-

A noise came forth from his right, jerking him out of his noble fantasy and causing him to nearly swallow his tongue.

"What do you think you're doing?"

From a patch of darkness strode a tall, thin elderly woman. She stopped in front of Rincewind, hands on hips and glared down at him. Hurriedly, the wizard scrambled to his feet.

"Er. I was told to come. I'm friend of Byr- this young lady."

"That so." It wasn't a question. The old woman stared at him with eyes like gimlets. They looked as though they could stare right through you to your very soul and, quite frankly, were not impressed with what they saw.

"Er. Yes."

"You'd be Rincewind the wizard then."

"Er. Yes?"

She looked him up and down and sniffed. "I didn't think you'd be so skinny."

Rincewind stayed silent, hoping that she wouldn't ask any more questions if he didn't offer anymore basis for them. The woman continued to survey him as he occasionally twitched in Byrony's direction.

"Look," he suddenly blurted out. "Shouldn't we help her?"

The woman nodded in a satisfied manner, as if he had passed some sort of test "We gots to bring her to her room. A friend of mine is waiting there."

"Where's that?"

She pointed up to a solitary lit up window on what looked like the fifth floor.

"Gosh," said Rincewind reflectively, filling the silence with the babbling of those in shock. "It's going to be hard for us to get her up there."

"Harder for you then me."

Rincewind turned back to the woman, opening his mouth to express his confusion, when he suddenly registered the large, black, pointy hat that was resting on its owners head.

"The reason being," continued the woman. "The reason _being_ that you'll be carrying her."

She smiled a truly terrifying smile at Rincewind.

"By the by, you can call me Mistress Weatherwax."

The Great Manor of Winslow Hall is famed for it's size. The first lord who built it, a distant if obvious relative of Byrony's as it happens, was driven mad with power, and decided to advertise his own greatness in the form of some sort of impressive and impossibly large structure. This was rather unwise, as afterwards people tended to stand behind him and snigger things about his over-compensation for something.

Anyway, it came to pass that the Manor was built, possibly the only residential building on the disc where it's perfectly acceptable for visitors to choose a different bedroom after becoming lost on the way back from a nightly bathroom-break. The Manor went on, and on, stretching into hallways, lounges, dining halls, and the odd room filled with antique chairs that none knows what to do with anymore.

Unfortunately for Rincewind, it also went up and up.

They were on their fourth flight on long winding stairs, with Mistress Weatherwax the possible (if unannounced) witch leading the way with an oil lamp. Rincewind's arms were now quite painful, but he had a feeling that if he even opened his mouth once he would be forced to endure a ten-minute lecture on the youth of today, and how they lack stamina, agility, a work ethic, brains etc. etc.

Besides.

He didn't want to put her down.

The woman in his arms gave a little sigh, and though she was still unconscious she seemed to be smiling slightly. Her long, barely controllable brown hair was forced into a plait which would snake down her back had she been upright. If her eyes were open, Rincewind knew, they would be an iridescent green and sparkling with life.

_Here's hoping they actually open again,_ he thought gloomily.

As they climbed the never-ending steps, he held her warm body close to him, and realised he was beginning to feel very, very guilty.

Wizards weren't allowed to fraternise with the female species- they were famed for it- and now an internal battle was happening in the centre of Rincewind's brain.

_Thought you were a wizard_, said a smarmy voice coming from the direction of his Ego. _You're clutching her pretty tight there, aren't you?_

Yeah, well…he was holding her tightly so-

-so she won't fall, interjected his brain cells-

Yeah, thought Rincewind hurriedly. So she won't fall.

_That's not what certain areas of your body are telling_ _me_, said the voice in what Rincewind thought was an overly smug manner.

Wait, who _are_ you?

_Your libido, _said the voice_. Haven't been around in a while. It's understandable that you've forgotten me_.

What?! My libid - oh.

_Hey, I might finally get some action, huh?_

Though the voice was just a voice, its mere tone suggested elbow nudging and eyebrow waggling galore.

"Listen," said Rincewind, desperately addressing Mistress Weatherwax. "How about you carry her? For a bit?"

Just then, however, Byrony gave a small murmur and her eyes opened.

"Byrony?" Mistress Weatherwax was beside her in a shot, holding the lamp over her face. "Byrony, what day is it?"

Byrony paused. "Gruneday?" she ventured.

The witch looked at Rincewind, who shrugged. "Could be."

Byrony looked up at Rincewind. "Rincewind! What's wrong with your eyebrows?" she asked in the easygoing manner of the semi-concussed.

"Ah…a friendly game designed to strengthen inter-faculty relations got slightly out of hand."

"Oh. Did it strengthen relations?"

"Well, yes," admitted Rincewind. "We all hate each other _much _more strongly now."

"I see," said Byrony blearily.

"Come on," said Mistress Weatherwax impatiently, "We got to keep going."

They kept going, and Byrony kept up her happy chatter, seemingly oblivious that she had just hit her head quite hard. She had one arm chummily slung around Rincewind's neck and was using the other to point out pictures, wallpaper, odd stains on the walls and anything else that took her fancy.

Rincewind listened to it all, hardly daring to believe that the woman he-

-that the woman he was very fond of _as a friend_ was right there in his arms.

"I miss you, you know." Byrony confided to him.

"I- you-do you? Indeed? There's a thing."

Byrony patted him fondly on the face, accidentally poking him in the eye. "I wish you were here."

Rincewind looked at her worriedly. "Er. I am here. At least," he added, "I'm pretty _sure_ I'm here."

As he looked at it, her face, which had haunted his subconscious dreams, creased into an expression of perplexity.

_Ah concussion_, thought Rincewind as he remembered all his own falls and head injuries. _Thou art truly a bugger_.

Then Byrony burst out laughing. "You'renot here, Rincewind! Imagine if you were here!"

"I _am_ here," Rincewind gently insisted, but in her just-about-conscious state, Byrony was having none of it. Her laughs tapered off into chuckles, and she repeated an amused 'imagine!' every now and then.

Rincewind rolled his eyes. The sooner the effects of the head wound wore off, the better.

"Rincewind?" He looked down, and stopped walking. Byrony's face was a delicate green. "I don't think I can-"

Her head lolled back as she lost her tentative grasp on consciousness, and Rincewind quickly pulled her up so it rested on his neck.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is she dead?" he gibbered.

Mistress Weatherwax placed a hand on Byrony's forehead and clucked her tongue. "She's aint dead you silly man," she snapped. "But she's aint fine either." She shook her head. "I don't know how she's expecting to dance tonight."

"Dance?" Rincewind was confused. Where did dancing come into it? Then realisation dawned. "At the _ball_? She's still going to the _ball_?"

The witch nodded grimly as she stalked along the corridors. "She's got to. Leastways, that's what the tall skinny fellow in black says," she added.

"_Vetinari?_"

"That one, yes. The one with the eyebrow thing."

"He can't be seri-…what eyebrow thing? Never mind! He can't be serious!"

"_He_ said the entire operation depends on her goin' this ball."

"She fell off a building! She's_ unconscious_! Are you telling me she's supposed to dance a minuet?!"

"Got wax in your ears, have you?"

They had reached a narrow corridor that was lined with low burning oil-lamps. Mistress Weatherwax stopped outside a white door and gave it a thump.

"You'd do well to do what you're told mister wizard," she snapped. "I gots my hands full as it is. If you've a problem, take it up with her uncle. Otherwise, you're not helping!"

The door opened, and a face that reminded Rincewind of an elderly apple peered out.

"Oh lawks," it said vaguely. "I'm just a poor cleaner sir-"

"Gytha, it's me," said Mistress Weatherwax.

"Oh right then." The woman came out of the room, holding two large bottles. "I was just having a bit of a snack-" She caught sight of Byrony in Rincwind's arms. "Ye gods. What's that girl been up to now?"

Mistress Weatherwax took her from Rincewind, who only managed to let go through sheer force of will.

"It's bad," she said shortly. "Do you think we can get Magrat to take a look?"

"I thought no dignitaries were to know?"

"We need a doctor. Magrat knows about that sort of thing."

Nanny Ogg pursed her lips. "I dunno Esme. She can be pretty indignant. She's a queen."

"She's a _witch_."

"That too," said Nanny Ogg amiably. She then seemed to notice Rincewind for the first time. He was watching the motionless Byrony with worried eyes and twisting the hem of his robe anxiously.

"Nice to see that Byrony has her own young-" she paused, eyeing Rincewind who, to be fair, was not exactly a poster-boy for masculinity. "…man to worry about her anyway." She grinned suggestively at him.

"What? No!"

"No," agreed Mistress Weatherwax.

Rincewind stared at her. It was one thing to call yourself unworthy to court a young woman. It was quite another thing altogether to have someone _else_ say it.

"_Well_?" She asked the question icily, and managed to pack a lot of meaning into one syllable. Rincewind began to back away, but though his terrified gaze was locked onto Mistress Weatherwax's face, he kept darting fleeting glances down to the girl in her arms. "I thought you were going to find the uncle and give him a piece of your mind?"

"I was? I was!" Rincewind pulled himself up into what he imagined to be an honourable position. He would find Vetinari, by gum! He would tell him exactly what he thought of the fact that Vetinari was placing the life of the woman Rincewind lo-

That is, he would tell him exactly what he thought of the fact that Vetinari was placing the life of his own niece in pointless danger!

"I'm going to find out what the hell is going on," he growled.

"Good," said the witch. "I should go that way if I were you." She jerked her head in the direction of a downward sloping staircase.

"Right!" said Rincewind. He glanced down at Byrony again. "Right…" he said, with rather less enthusiasm. "Er. Can I just stay until she-"

Mistress Weatherwax glared, and Rincewind backed away so fast that he was half way down the stairs before he turned and began to run.

"Poor lad," said Nanny Ogg reflectively, as Granny Weatherwax laid Byrony on the bed.

"Skinny streak of cowardice," she snapped.

Nanny Ogg shrugged. "If you say so…There's another doctor in the building, I met him on my way and he seems pretty good. Lawn, his name was. The fellow in black told me I was to call him when you and the wizard brought her."

"Fine."

"Esme?"

"Yes?"

"If he's such a coward, why's he gone to face down her uncle? A man who I freely admit gives me the willies."

Granny Weatherwax harrumped, to show that she couldn't be bothered with that line of conversation at the moment. Nanny Ogg leaned over Byrony's still form. "Poor love," she said, and patted her cheek. "I remember when she first came to Lancre. What was she, seven?"

"Eight."

"Oh yes, eight years old and as talkative as you please!" Nanny Ogg chuckled. "Remember when she 'accidentally' exploded old Abber Gurney's shed? With one of them flares of hers?"

Granny's mouth twitched. "I never liked that man," she said. "He beat his horses"

"And Byrony knew it too!" said Nanny Ogg. "Oh, I'll never forget it! Her standing there and all these little, sort of wood shavings fluttering down and old Abber yelling fit to bust and she said- what did she say?"

"I only_ sneezed_!" they chorused. Nanny Ogg almost choked laughing, and even Granny Weatherwax smiled. Nanny's laughter died away, and she patted Byrony's cheek again. Granny stared off into the distance.

"Esme?"

"Yes?"

"She has to go to this ball, doesn't she?"

"Yes. No one can know she was the one who fell. She has to play the part. Be the hostess. Dance the dance. If anyone finds out, it's all over."

"She has to go then?"

"She has to go."

"Esme?"

"What?"

"I think her ankle is broken."

Granny sighed.

"I know."

Rincewind stalked the grounds of Winslow Manor, seething inwardly. He had never before been able to manage a good stalk, but was now carrying it off beautifully. He was, however, about to become aware of one of the most essential elements of stalking: When walking (or indeed, stalking) purposefully, be sure you _know where you're going_…

In short, Rincewind was lost. He had set out to find Vetinari, but apparently the man was not, in fact, to be found on the grounds of the manor and now Rincewind was just wandering aimlessly around the place, occasionally kicking offensively ugly garden sculptures.

Perhaps it was all for the best, though. After all, he thought reflectively, if he found Vetinari, what was the man likely to do? Put him on the first coach back to Ankh-Morpork, that was what. Rincewind had heard from fairly reliable sources that the Patrician was not only aware of the tentative and uncertain relationship he and Byrony shared, but also knew that they had, at once stage…well, they had…

They had kissed. And for one brief, shining moment, Rincewind's world had been a good place to be in.

Of course, after the kiss, everything had looked just that little bit worse, so maybe it hadn't been worth it after all.

Rincewind gave up. He could search the many rooms of the manor for Vetinari, but he was pretty sure that several tourists who had ventured in without a guide had once gone missing. Only their skeletons had been found, and Rincewind was _very_ fond of not dying.

_That's a defeatist attitude_, sneered his new-found libido.

Oh, really? Perhaps that's because I'm going to be defeated, thought Rincewind wearily.

Kicking angrily at a ridiculous sculpture of a woman with no arms, he turned and prepared to make his way back to Byrony's room, hoping that, by now, she would have recovered enough to regard him as something more then a hallucination brought on by a swift blow to the head.

Along the track beside him, a carriage rolled up. Rincewind ignored it, as he was contemplating the phrase 'Love conquers all'. Well, it conquers all common sense pretty quickly, he thought.

All thoughts were driven out of his head however, when the carriage rolled to a stop and the door swung open, knocking Rincewind over onto the ground by happy coincidence. He turned over onto his back, ready to swear angrily at its occupant, but the words in his throat died when he saw the crest that adorned the side of the carriage: Black on black – The Vetinari family crest.

A silken voice issued forth. "Ah, Rincewind. I believe you are looking for me?"

Rincewind groaned, and attempted to dig into the moss using only his shoulder blades.

"Are you comfortable down there?" enquired the Patrician, contriving to suggest in his tone of voice that he could soon ensure that this was not the case.

Rincewind scrambled to his feet. "Just on my way to the dining hall!" he proclaimed, his face a rictus of terror. "Don't let me hold you up, your Lordship!"

"Goodness," said Vetinari mildly. "I must have been misinformed. I was told you were searching for me."

"Oh no," insisted Rincewind. "I am, in fact, headed in the opposite direction, so I'll just-"

"Well, I have needlessly detained you. Hop in and I'll give you a lift to the manor."

"Oh it's quite a short walk," said Rincewind with mounting desperation.

"I insist."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Get _in_ Rincewind."

Rincewind scrambled into the carriage, which set off at a quick pace almost immediately, the driver barely pausing to take note that all Rincewind's extremities were safely inside.

While it was true that the wizard had completely intended to confront Vetinari about his mistreatment of Byrony, upon coming face to face with the ruler of the disc's largest and surely most dangerous city, he found that any thoughts on confrontation were pushed so far to the back of his mind that, if some of the more advanced speculations on the nature and shape of the many dimensioned multiplexity of the universe was correct, it was right at the front.

Still…he should do _something_.

And if 'something' consisted of sitting nervously and twisting the hem of his robe so much that it made distressing noises that no material should ever make, then he was doing it, by gum!

Vetinari watched the wizard over steepled fingertips, as the coach rattled through the silent grounds. All the guests were inside the building, availing of the copious amounts of free food and drink. Drink, Rincewind thought fervently, that he could very much do with right about now.

"You are angry with me," said Vetinari softly.

Rincewind chuckled nervously. "_Nooo_…"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," admitted the wizard, feeling that 'well, I _was_ angry' wouldn't really cut it.

"Of course you are," said the Patrician, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Someone ought to be," he said, almost to himself.

"Ought they?" asked Rincewind, trying to surreptitiously rattle the carriage door handle.

"You must realise that I never intended to harm Byrony," continued Vetinari, opening his eyes and fixing Rincewind in his sharp gaze. "Your arrival was not scheduled, and if the crowd hadn't been drawn out, all would have gone according to plan. However…"

"It didn't?" suggested Rincewind helpfully.

"No," agreed Vetinari, smiling thinly. "It most definitely did not. Byrony, who is expected to host this entire event, is suffering from concussion and a possibly broken ankle."

Vetinari looked at Rincewind. "Socialite ladies are not supposed to climb up buildings. This would not be a problem normally, as we could concoct some sort of explanation involving…oh, I don't know. A dress fitting gone wrong? Then she wouldn't have to attend–"

"So why don't you?" blurted Rincewind. "Don't make her go to the ball! She can barely stand!"

Vetinari shook his head. "Nicholas Rowel the Third."

Rincewind paused. It seemed that they had skipped a section of the conversation. "Who?"

"A young man of noble descent with whom Byrony grew up," explained Vetinari. "They're distantly related, actually. He knows all about her…hobbies."

Rincewind, who was well aware that some of Byrony's 'hobbies' included committing certain hidden deeds for her beloved uncle, gulped.

"He knows exactly what she is capable of, and what's more, one of his spies spotted a figure on the side of the building, and saw it fall. I am given to understand that he cannot prove it was her, but if he does, then all is lost."

Vetinari leaned forward. "It is essential that Byrony attends this ball. She must look as though absolutely nothing is wrong with her Rincewind, do you understand? If Rowel guesses that she was the one trying to break into his study, he will take…action."

"But _why_?" cried Rincewind, suddenly overwhelmed with information that he feared people would be willing to kill for. Well, willing to kill _him_. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Vetinari sat back, and smoothed out the sleeves of his robe. "Of course. I forgot that you were unaware of the story behind this weeks proceedings. Let me try to explain."

He tried to explain. Rincewind tried to understand.

As far as he could tell, it was like this. The country was completely and utterly barmy. Istanzia had been ruled for years by a royal family, which claimed the throne due to their possession of a highly magical object known only as the Orb. Vetinari explained that the Orb brought exceptionally good harvest to the country, and ensured they bred a high standard of animals. However, after four hundred years of the families rule, the power of the Orb began to wane, and a rebel group stole the Orb from the family, claiming that they had no right to rule over a country using a mere symbol of a power they once had. The Orb was taken away and hidden by the rebels, who believed that the people should choose their own leaders, and feared that the Orb would be used once again to claim the throne.

"Rowel wants the Orb," said Vetinari finally. "The latest elections are coming up, and he's running against an ancestor of the original royal family, Princess Emmaline. The people of Istanzia are beginning to feel restless, they're harking back to the good old days when there were Kings and Queens and magic in the land. If Rowel finds the Orb, he'll use it to swing public favour in his direction. "

"And that would be…" Rincewind hazarded a guess. "…bad?"

"Ankh-Morpork is, of course, very friendly with the great and noble country of Istanzia and wouldn't dream of getting involved in any of its political dealings. We enjoy fine trading with them, and have a wonderful history of diplomatic relations. However, if Rowel were to gain control of the country…" Vetinari pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I believe that would be bad."

"Let me get this straight," said Rincwind as he tried to untangle the already tangled story in his head. "Byrony's trying to find a mythical Orb which may or may not exist so that a country which I've barely even heard of will continue to give us _money_?"

"It's a little more complicated then that," said Vetinari mildly.

"She nearly _died._ Her head almost splashed all over the ground! _It can't get much more complicated_!"

"Today she was attempting to break into Rowel's office to find what information he had already gleaned of the Orb's whereabouts. The wall-climbing element was necessary, as I believed he was about to send it on over clacks to his search party. Happily, the Dean's stunt with the fireballs has ended any clack's sending for the week. The gathering of the rulers of the countries of the disc is to ensure that when we do find the Orb, there are suitable witnesses to Princess Emmaline's reinstated claim on the throne."

"Oh? How lovely. Is the Princess in on all this, then?"

"She and her advisors requested Ankh-Morpork's help," said Vetinari. "Rowel is… how shall I put this?" He paused for a moment and looked off into space. "Perhaps the most suitably diplomatic word is 'bully'. He is a small-minded snob who thinks nothing of hiring muscles to scour votes for himself. Once in power, I fear that he will attempt to spread that power around, and may feel that the borders of Istanzia are not enough."

Vetinari looked at Rincewind who looked blankly back. "Istanzia enjoys a very fine military tradition," he hinted.

Rincewind winced. Any word that even suggested the possibility of fighting made him break out in a rash. "Yes," Vetinari sighed. "As tiresome as it is, I'm afraid that our friend Rowel has his fairly egotistical heart set on disc-domination."

"You're joking," said Rincewind sceptically.

"I am not," said Vetinari.

"You're not?" gibbered Rincewind.

"No. And now I feel we must discuss your place in all this, Rincewind."

Oh ye gods, thought Rincewind, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. My place? Where I would like _my place_ to be is a thousand miles from all this, thanks.

With a stiff drink.

No, _two_ stiff drinks.

Of course, if he was a thousand miles away from all this, that would mean he was a thousand miles away from Byrony. And if he was a thousand miles away from Byrony…

Rincewind wasn't sure if the inner-barriers he had subconsciously constructed would work a second time, but it didn't really matter. He found now, after some quick examination of his brain, that he didn't _want_ to forget Byrony. He wanted every memory of every smile, touch and laugh, and he wanted all the pain that came with it. More then the memories though, he wanted the real thing.

"Rincewind, I realise that you are fond of my niece, having spent time as her guide in Ankh-Morpork."

Oh bugger, thought Rincewind frantically. He realises I'm fond of his niece!

He realised that Vetinari was probably going to tell him to stay away from Byrony, to allow her to finish the ridiculous mission she was on. He drew himself up, ready to…to… to be really _indignant_!

"Now, I am going to ask you to-"

"I won't leave her!" said Rincewind waving a frantic finger. "You can't make me!"

"To stay as close as you possibly can to her throughout the week," continued Vetinari smoothly.

"Never! Shan't! I'd rather be punished in a cruel and unusual – what?"

"It has come to my attention that you really have this _marvellous_ knack for not dying," smiled Vetinari. "I would like this to apply to Byrony. You shall stay as close as possible to her, agreed?"

Unable to utter a single word, Rincewind simply gaped at the Patrician. In his state of shock, he leaned on the door-handle which, thanks to his early rattling, hastened to comply with his assumed wishes. The door opened, and Rincewind fell out of the still moving carriage onto the dusty track near the back of the manor. The carriage halted and Vetinari leaned out.

"How lucky," he said. "We're right outside the dining hall. However, I would _suggest_ that you go and call in on my niece?"

"Ah, actually," said Rincewind from ground level (in a rather muffled voice). "I would rather like to visit the-"

"Capital!" said Vetinari, feigning sudden deafness. "I believe young Ponder Stibbons has called up to her already."

There was a sudden angry scrambling noise. "_Stibbons_?" growled Rincewind, rising to his feet like a vengeful if rather shabby spirit.

"Oh yes," said Vetinari cheerfully. "He's gone to give her the necklace he devised with Curwen's Modulator to control her magic flares, you remember?"

Rincewind, who had almost died as a direct result of one of those flares, remembered.

"_Stibbons_?"

"Well, don't let me detain you," said Vetinari, tapping on the roof for the driven to continue.

Rincewind stared bitterly at the carriage as it trundled away, doubtless to one of the other many entrances of this ridiculously large monstrosity of a building.

_As close as possible to his niece, eh?_ thought his libido. _Well_, I _thought_ _that went rather well_.

Nicholas Rowel the Third stared at the mirror and tried to think himself calm.

Calm, he thought angrily. I am calm. The _clacks_ would be _down_ all _week_ and - _Calm_, I say!

He closed his eyes and tried to visualise the thing that made him happy. Flowers…butterflies…untold riches and power achieved by entirely amoral means…puppies…sunshine…

Rowel was a young man, but he had centuries of greed distilled into him. He was tall, slim and pale and wore impeccably tailored suits. His every move seemed calculated and planned in advance, and he wore wire spectacles on the end of his slightly pointed nose. His black hair was slicked back, and absolutely nothing about him could even be vaguely described as being out of place.

Rowel smiled into the mirror.

Then he stopped. That was enough practise for one day.

So. It would appear that his beloved distant cousin was attempting to thwart him. He sighed. How very, very _like_ his family. He couldn't prove it at the moment of course, but as soon as he did, she would have to be…removed. Not _killed_ of course. No, he had much more profitable plans for her then that.

He tried smiling again – he was getting rather good at it.

Rincewind climbed the stairs to Byrony's bedroom feeling a little sorry for himself. Oh _sure_, he was getting to be with the woman he-

-with the woman he was _very fond of_, but it wasn't exactly voluntary, was it?

Admittedly, if he was given the choice, he would have chosen this. The point was, he wasn't given the choice, was he?

The stairs creaked under him, and the oil lamps on the walls flickered as Rincewind examined the depths of his soul. It slunk away, embarrassed at the attention. He reached the corner that would lead him to Byrony's room, and paused. Was that…was that a _creak_? A creaking floorboard could only mean one thing.

"_Stibbons_," hissed Rincewind under his breath.

Oohhh, so Stibbons thought he could creep up here with his little gift for Byrony. Wrangle his way into her good graces would he? Get to be in a room alone with he, would he? Trying to be untoward towards her, was he? Rincewind's imagination, already taxed beyond belief, conjured images of an intimate meeting between Byrony and Ponder, involving wine, candles and a roaring fire.

It was the fire that did it.

Rincewind jumped out from behind the corner screaming.

"_HAH_!"

And the small blonde child standing there burst into noisy tears.

"Er," said Rincewind. The last five seconds hadn't really adhered to his internal script.

He tried to pat the child, which seemed to be of the female persuasion, on the head, which caused it to wail all the louder. "Shush," he begged. "There's a good…girl?"

It did no good. She threw her head back and bawled.

Suddenly, the door at the end of the hall swung open, shedding a brighter light on the scene.

"_What_ is all the racket?" said Byrony irritably.

Rincewind swallowed his tongue. Oh ye gods. There she was.

She was wearing some sort of white shift. Her hair was freshly washed and hanging down her back and over her shoulders. The light of the room streamed out around her, and Rincewind thought she was the most utterly lovely thing he had ever seen

Their eyes locked, and Byrony inhaled sharply.

There should have been music. There should have been an orchestra and a sunset to a backdrop of a roaring ocean.

What there _shouldn't_ have been was a thoroughly fascinated four-year-old excavating the internal recesses of her nose.

"You're here," said Byrony weakly. "I thought you were a dream.

"No," said Rincewind firmly. "I'm definitely here." Anything as unpleasant as the earlier carriage ride couldn't possibly be a dream.

They looked at each other, and the air between them seemed to sizzle with tension. The small child's enthralled face swivelled from one to the other; finger still firmly plugged into nose.

"Rincewind, I…" Byrony noticed the little girl for the first time. She coughed. "I think we should continue this inside?"

Rincewind nodded mutely, and followed her into the room.

To his annoyance, so did the little girl.

"This is Little Esme," said Byrony cheerfully, ushering the child inside. "She's heir to the throne of Lance you know."

"Is she indeed?" said Rincewind, trying to desperately remember where he'd heard that name before. Oh, that's right. "Er, are those two…ladies still here?"

"Who?" Byrony looked momentarily thrown. "Oh, you mean Nanny and Granny Weatherwax," she laughed.

"Yes," agreed Rincewind. "I'll stay as long as they're not here, is what I mean."

"Don't be silly. They're not here anyhow."

They surveyed one another once more, the silence filling the room with tension.

"You've lost weight," said Byrony finally.

"Haven't much felt like eating," admitted Rincewind sheepishly.

"Not even potatoes?" asked Byrony with a faint smile.

"Not even potatoes," said Rincewind.

Silence. Suddenly Byrony turned away and walked to a dresser at the side of the large and fairly luxurious room. She was, Rincewind noticed, limping the kind of slight limp that concealed a great amount of pain. All at once, Rincewind noticed other worrying details, like the bandage on her arm and the pale pallor of her face.

She really _was_ limping.

"I have to get ready for this bloody ball," she explained. "Gods, but I _hate_ balls."

"Yes, I remember," said Rincewind vaguely, still contemplating the limp. "That's a lovely dress," he added, feeling it was expected of him.

Byrony turned around grinning, a very mischievous look on her face. "Actually, this is, in fact, _my under slip_."

"Oh?"

"I goes _under_ my dress."

"Oh."

"So, I'm practically in my underwea-"

"_Yes_, all right!"

Byrony turned back to the dresser sniggering. Rincewind fumed. It looked like they had instantly fallen back into their usual relationship, with Byrony teasing Rincewind mercilessly and Rincewind helpless to defend himself.

It also meant that he was now in a ladies boudoir, with the lady in question wearing little more her undergarments.

Not only was he a _wizard_, but he was a _wizard, _he was a_ wizard_ and he was a _wizard_!

There were _rules_!

Well…guidelines.

"Gnaaahh," he proclaimed eloquently.

"I beg your pardon?" Byrony asked politely, her dress under her arm.

"Ah, that is…look, you can't go to this ball!" blurted Rincewind.

"Really? Why?"

"Well, look at yourself!"

Byrony's face arranged itself into an expression of defiance, but she was swaying where she stood. There were deep purple crescents under her eyes; her face was as white as milk and a purple smudge of a bruise adorned her left temple. The bandage on her arm was stained with suspicious and worrying dots of red.

Avoiding his eyes, she turned to Little Esme, who was playing with tassels of the bedspread. Rincewind noticed for the first time that the child had a rather lumpy knitted stuffed frog toy under one arm.

"Esme? Be good for uncle Rincewind while I get dressed, wont you?"

"Yeth," she said indistinctly, due to the thumb that was lodged in her mouth.

"You're getting dressed?" said Rincewind incredulously. "You're going to _go_?"

"I have to," she said simply, slipping behind a silk screen embroidered with multicoloured peacocks. "You idiot," she added from behind it.

Rincewind sighed, and sat heavily on the large bed in the room. Little Esme scrambled up beside him and leaned against his arm with her thumb still in her mouth, her frog under one arm and gave a little sigh of contentment.

Then, the peace was broken by the sound of silken rustling from behind the screen.

Rincewind gulped as his libido and imagination conspired against him. He had self control. He was in command of his own thoughts. Hah, everyone _knew_ a wizard didn't need a chaperone, because their minds were much too busy contemplating higher and worthier subjects then beautiful and barely clad creatures that were on the other sides of the fairly thin silk screens.

There were more rustling noises, and the scent of lavender drifted over.

Hah, yes, thought Rincewind furiously. Higher things, that was the ticket.

Only the frantic bobbing of his adams apple betrayed him.

He felt a small poke to his elbow and looked down, fervently grateful for the distraction. He came face to face with Little Esme, who retracted her thumb and took a deep breath.

"Your hat is silly," she said, with the air of one who is well versed in these matters.

"My hat," said Rincewind haughtily, "is a symbol of learning and the culmination of over a thousand years of magical experience and knowledge."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Can I wear it?"

"No."

Esme went an interesting shade of purple.

"Look," said Rincewind, casting about wildly. "How would you like to wear this…this?" He held up a piece of intimidating feminine corsetry, which consisted mainly of straps and buckles.

"That's scary."

"Yes, it _is_ isn't it…"

"Wanna wear the _hat_!"

There was a little chuckle from behind the screen.

"I'll scream," warned Little Esme.

"Look," said Rincewind desperately. "You're not wearing my hat, okay?"

Esme opened her mouth.

Two point five seconds later, a very satisfied four-year-old was perched on the wizard's lap. Her thumb was jammed into her mouth and she was wearing a pointy hat that was so big on her, it slipped down and perched on her nose.

"Can I have it back now?" asked Rincewind wearily.

The thumb was retracted with an audible popping noise. "No! I'm a magic pony."

"Fascinating."

Suddenly, the rustling from behind the screen stopped. "Oh gods," muttered Byrony. "This is awful. It has _pleats_!"

"You all right?" asked Rincewind nervously.

"Just putting on my outer-under slip," called Byrony.

"Ah. Of course," said Rincewind in what he hoped was a knowledgeable sort of voice. "Good."

"No, it's terrible. I'm changing it, or it'll be digging into me all night."

She came out from behind the screen, and Rincewind saw that she had changed from the white dress into a pale blue one, made of stiffer, scratchier looking material. It did indeed have pleats.

"Could you help me take it off?" asked Byrony looking critically down at herself.

There was a pause, which managed to somehow be very expressive.

"Excuse me?" asked Rincewind carefully.

"I can't open the back by myself," explained Byrony. "Come on, you just have to pop out the eyelets."

Rincewind, who felt that his own eyelets were going to pop out at any second, removed Esme from his lap and walked over to her.

"Just unhook the little hook things," she instructed, turning her back to him and putting her hands on her hips.

With hands that only trembled a little, Rincewind unhooked the first eyelet. When no spectral vision of the scandalised founding fathers of wizardry materialised, he unhooked a second.

As he made his way through all the hooks holding one side of the dress to the other, Rincewind became aware of certain things.

He became aware that more and more of Byrony's bare, smooth back was being revealed.

He became aware that his knuckles were brushing warm soft skin as his fingers popped open each tiny hook.

He became aware that the room temperature seemed to be slowly rising, and that her breathing was soft and shallow.

When the final eyelet was open, she didn't move. Rincewind then watched in a trance, as his arm seemed come under the control of some other entity. It slowly reached out, and pressed his hand against her soft, bare back. He felt the warmth of her skin under his palm and the thump of her heart under his fingertips…

He snatched his hand away as if he had been burned, and took three quick steps backwards. Byrony turned around, and she looked at him for a minute, clutching the front of her dress with a thoughtful air.

"Thank you," she said finally.

"Not a problem, no problem at all," babbled Rincewind. He picked up Esme, who giggled delightedly, and held her in front of him like a shield. "Really, it was nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing."

Byrony made a face that Rincewind knew well. It was the face she made when she was making a heroic effort not to roll her eyes. She disappeared behind the screen again, and he let out a relieved, shaky breath.

"I'm upside-_down_!" complained Esme.

"People who take other people's hats don't deserve to be upright," said Rincewind firmly. Hey, he thought, I'm pretty good at this parental thing.

"I think it's time for someone to go," called Byrony from behind the screen. Rincewind stared at it. Did she mean…?

"Esme needs to get ready for the ball," continued Byrony. "Could you bring her back to her room?"

"Sure, why not?" said a relieved Rincewind. "Er. I'll probably get lost though."

"Oh, she knows the way," said Byrony airily. "Just ask a passing servant on the way back. An elderly one though," she added. "I fancy that the younger ones would be just as lost as you."

"Fine, fine, that's fine. Er. You'll be here when I get back?"

"Why, Rincewind," said Byrony, the smile audible in her voice. "Wherever would I go?"

Rincewind closed the door behind him, in a better mood then he had been for over a year, despite the wriggling and protesting child under one arm.

"I'm _still_ upside-_down_!"

It shouldn't have taken this long to climb a small hill.

At least, it started out as a small hill, but as soon as the soldier started to climb it, it suddenly seemed to turn into a towering monument, a tribute to geological developments everywhere. As he swore silently to himself, he hoped that the other three were having just as much bad luck and drove another grappling hook into the side of the mountain as if it had personally insulted him. The wind whistled around him, and the air seemed to blow through his clothes as if they were made of paper. He wasn't out of breath, however, and the cold didn't bother him. He had faced worse then this.

He was near the peak now, just a little further and he would be able to get the damn thing, and to get off this wretched mountain.

The wind howled, and the very air around him screamed…

They never did find where his body landed, though certain people thought to themselves that it was likely that he was already dead before it did.

Whoever knew that air could pull?

When Rincewind returned to Byrony's room after explaining to a frantic nanny what, exactly, he was doing wandering around the manor with the heir to the throne of Lancre under his arm, she was waiting at the doorway, and oil-lamp in hand. Rincewind looked at her suspiciously.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, I just thought we'd take a little night-time stroll," she replied airily.

"Where the- Oh, er, you look nice, by the way." He felt it was rather expected of him to comment.

Byrony looked down at herself. "This still isn't my dress. There's another two layers and all manner of bustles and collars to go."

"Really? Seems a bit…well…"

"Stupid? Pointless?" volunteered Byrony. "I quite agree. Then I still have to put my hair, put oily gunk on my face and, you know, I have to put on _corsets_!"

Rincewind thought of the item he had offered to little Esme, which looked rather like a shackle-based torture instrument. "Oh. Wow."

"Yes. Well, off we go then!" With that Byrony set of down the winding, dark hallway. There were no lamps in this part of the building and the paintings flickered spookily under the light of the moving oil-lamp in her hand. Rincewind hurried after her.

"Again, call me Mr. Silly, but I would like to know where we're heading." She was still limping, Rincewind noticed. She was still _very_ limping.

"Well, Mr. Silly," said Byrony seriously. "I was supposed to find out what Rowel knows about the Orb- Oh, have you heard about the Orb?"

"You dear uncle enlightened me," shuddered Rincewind.

"Yes, he's a sweetheart, isn't he. I was supposed to find out what Rowel the Rat knows before he sent the information away on the clacks. I come home, and find the slimy bastard has put his own damn guards in _my_ house! He's watching my every move, the creepy git."

Huffing, Byrony stopped by a portrait of a rather constipated looking you man, and slammed it with her fist. It swung open, revealing a large doorway in the wall.

"Um…" said Rincewind.

"So now," continued Byrony. "The clacks are down and it's the changing of the guard. I still need the information but due to a sudden and lovely absence of prying eyes, we can make use of all the rather marvellous passageways that wind throughout the manor. Questions?"

There was a pause.

"We?" said Rincewind.

"We," said Byrony firmly.

"Right."

"Come on then." She smiled and stepped into the darkness.

"Yes, now, let me get this straight. You want to break into-"

"Inadvertently shatter into."

"What?"

"Never mind."

They were walking along the inside of the wall, with the oil-lamp giving flickering outlines to the bare bricks of the walls, and the dusty boards of the floor.

"Have I got this right? You want to break into the room of a man who is attempting to achieve disc domination, a man who, I might add, already suspects you of nefarious deeds. Instead of hiring someone else to do this for you, _you_ want to break into his _actual _study _yourself_."

"Yep."

"_You_. By yourself. All alone with no back-up whatsoever."

"Well, now I've got you, don't I?"

While Rincewind's stomach did lazy flips at the slow smile Byrony bestowed upon him, his brain was quick to point out that on the occasion that they were actually caught, he would be about as useful as a chocolate tea-kettle.

"I suppose there's not much he can actually do to us. I mean, it is _your_ manor, after all."

"Oh, I don't know," said Byrony cheerfully. "He could have us shot on the spot and claim he thought we were intruders."

Rincewind gulped audibly. "Or," continued Byrony. "He could have us murdered in our beds. Or whoever's bed we happen to be in at the time," she added with a backwards wink. Rincewind flushed.

"Besides," continued Byrony. "I don't trust anyone else to get it done."

"Er," he said, as they continued along their dark and dusty way. "I've mean meaning to ask, _is_ this actually your manor?"

Byrony held the lamp a little higher. "Yes, of course. I'd hardly rent it for a fortnight, would I?"

"It's just that it's very…big."

"Manors usually are. Noted for it, in fact."

"Well, you never mentioned it before."

"Generally it's not the done thing to mention ones vast wealth in polite society–"

To Rincewind's alarm, Byrony suddenly pitched forward, her eyes rolling up into her head. Moving at a speed he normally reserved for running away from people, Rincewind caught her around the waist, also neatly catching the oil-lamp before it hit the ground, engulfing them both in flames.

"Byrony!" Wobbling, Rincewind tried to hold her up and _not_ burn them to death at the same time. He noticed how alarmingly pale she was, and in a response to some deeply buried medical knowledge, he jiggled her a bit.

"_Byrony_!"

Her eyes snapped open and she struggled to her feet. "Loose board," she said briskly, avoiding his eye. "Must've tripped. Watch out for them."

Rincewind waved the oil-lamp over the totally smooth path ahead.

"Oh, really," he said, rather sarcastically. Byrony snatched the oil-lamp out of his hands and _glared_. It was quite an impressive glare, but she was clearly weak and it wasn't a patch on the glare she had given him on the first day they had met, so Rincewind deflected it easily.

"Amazing," he continued. "Loose boards, eh? Who'd have thought it? Now, tell me what the nice doctor Lawn said."

Byrony's lips compressed. "Nothing. I'm fit as a fiddle."

"Really? He didn't, by any chance, use the words 'bed-rest', 'severe-concussion', and 'continuous observation'?"

"No," lied Byrony.

Rincewind was no stranger to concussions, having been on the receiving end of many. He knew, without a shred of doubt that Byrony was suffering from a very serious blow to the head. She would fall in and out of consciousness, experience extreme bouts of nausea, and in a saner world, should be constantly watched by trained medical staff. However, because she was stubborn, she was currently embarking on a ludicrous trek inside a wall which would probably get them both killed.

Those purple smudges under her eyes…

Rincewind sighed. "And how's your leg?"

"Fine," said Byrony truthfully. "My leg is perfectly fine. Nothing wrong with it whatsoever."

Rincewind feigned a kick at her ankle. "Ah, but my _ankle_," she said, quickly moving away. "Yes, my _ankle_ is a little sprained. Just a little. Only a bit, that's all, nothing to worry about."

She hurried quickly away, trying to disguise her heavy limp by leaning inconspicuously against the wall. She has to go _dancing_, thought Rincewind incredulously. This is _madness_…

He sighed, and with one calculated movement, threw himself full-length on the hard floorboards.

"Ow." Byrony turned back, eyebrows raised.

"Loose floorboard," said Rincewind morosely, scrambling to his feet "Perhaps I could hold onto your arm? To make sure I don't fall again?"

Byrony looked at him for a long, long time.

"Well," she said reluctantly. "If you really need my help…" She took Rincewind's proffered arm.

"Oh, I do," he said fervently, as he took her weight. "I really, really do."

Suddenly, Byrony closed her eyes and leaned against his chest as if she were resting after a long and tiring journey. Weary, thought Rincewind, as he looked at her pale face. She looks so weary. When did she last sleep?

They stood there for a moment, in the flickering yellow light, and Byrony rested her aching eyes. It felt as though she had been beaten, sorely beaten, by people who hated her and wanted to cause her harm. Every muscle ached, every tendon screamed and every movement required strength of mind and the gritting of teeth. Her head throbbed, and it felt as though she was on the verge of some sort of mental cliff, and any minute she would slip and go falling, falling…

But here, here she could rest a moment, while someone took her weight. Someone who didn't expect her to _cope_ and to deal with it. Someone who knew she was _breakable_…

She rested and listened to his heartbeat.

Then she straightened. "Right!" she said brightly. "On we go!"

A little later, they reached another doorway. Byrony thumped it at some sort secret area, and it swung open. Rincewind wasn't sure what to expect to find in the study of a mad-man who wants to take over the world, but what he did expect included maps, big folders marked 'PLANS' and possibly small notes saying 'note to me: Take Over Disc – Mwahahaha!!!!!'.

Instead the entered a small and modest room, with one medium sized and well-organised desk. There was one filing cabinet and a small window which had its curtains pulled closed. Just as Rincewind was feeling rather put out, he noticed the walls.

"Gosh," he said, unnerved.

"I know," said Byrony speculatively. "What _is_ that man doing to that dog?"

She was still examining the painting they had just exited. Rincewind tapped her on the shoulder and pointed. In the study of Nicholas Rowel the Third, row upon row of glass cases lined the walls, and within those glass cases were row upon row of pinned butterflies of all different types, colours and hues.

"Oh, yes," said Byrony distastefully. "Nicky's butterfly collection." She walked over and peered into a case. "He began it when we were kids, you know."

Rincewind started. "When you were kids?"

"Yes, we spent a bit of time together. He's my third cousin four times removed, or my fourth cousin three times removed or…well, something like that, anyway." She shook her head. "I never liked it. He took far too much pleasure in sticking the pins into them, in my opinion. Well, best get on with things!"

She leant over and hitched up her skirts, causing Rincewind to look up at the ceiling so quickly, he gave himself a minor case of whiplash.

"I keep a small set of lock-picks strapped to my leg," she said conversationally.

"Yes, thank you for that piece of information," said Rincewind irritably, his face flaming. "That's sure to come in handy when I need a set of lock-picks. Yes, I'll just ask you, shall I?"

When the rustling stopped, he deemed it safe to look down again and was just in time to observe Byrony break into a very secure looking drawer on the desk.

"Child's play," she sneered. "He relied too much on his guards, the stupid git." She began rummaging around in the drawer as Rincewind hopped impatiently from foot to foot. Any minute now, fifty guards were going to burst in and try to beat the _crap_ out of them both. Well, if they tried to touch Byrony he'd…well, he'd…

We'll, he'd get the _crap_ beaten out of him, but he'd do it in a dynamic kind of way.

"Ahah!" cried Byrony. "Success!" Out of an invisible pocket she took a tiny black square and knocked on it. A tiny head popped out.

"'s?" it said.

"Right, these are fine print Sid, but it's dark so I'll need a flash. That okay?"

"'s," squeaked the tiny figure as it retreated back into the iconograph.

"Hey," said Rincewind. "Is that a nano-demon?"

"Yep. Small, isn't he? He's got some sort of extra charm to make light so I don't need salamanders. Pretty clever."

A series of flashes went off as Byrony took pictures of all the documents in Rowel's desk related to the Orb. She was finished as quickly as she started and began hurriedly tidying everything away.

"Good ma- I mean, good demon, Sid."

"'nk you," replied the tiny voice from the little black box resting on the desk.

"But- No, hang on," frowned Rincewind. "I thought you couldn't have demons around you, remember? What with you being an enchantress, giving off pulses of magic and generally being a danger to life and limb?"

Byrony straightened up, her eyes sparkling. "Ah!" she exclaimed. "But now I have this!"

Triumphantly, she pulled on a gold chain around her neck, pulling out a smallish cube from her bodice. "Ponder finished moderating the modulator!" she cried delightedly. "It absorbs my magic!"

"What- When did he give you that!?"

"While you were dropping Esme back to her room. I was going to surprise you but- Rincewind, isn't this fantastic?"

Cursing all Heads of Inadvisably Applied Magic who happened to drop in just when you were out of the room, Rincewind sullenly replied, "Why?"

Byrony walked over to him, smiling. "Well, for one thing, I'll be able to stay in one place for as long as I want."

"So?" Rincewind had a horrible suspicion that she was smiling because she knew _exactly_ why he was acting so sullen.

"You never know. Maybe I might come back to Ankh-Morpork?"

Suddenly, the significance of the modulator hit Rincewind. He hadn't thought about it before, but now it landed upon him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Byrony could come back to Ankh-Morpork and stay as _long as she liked_…

"After all," she continued, still moving towards him. "There are still so many things I've yet to experience there."

"_Oh_," he squeaked, and then cleared his throat. "Oh, yes indeed. Of course. Yes, that would be…nice," he said, gruffly

Rincewind realised that Byrony was now very close indeed, and seemed to be intent on getting even closer. He was also horrified to realise that he didn't seem to be very inclined to stop her.

"Er, shouldn't we leave before someone comes?"

"What's the rush?" she said gently.

And as softly as a butterfly alighting on a flower, her lips pressed against his…

And time stood still….

Then suddenly, the door to the study let out an audible click, and swung open.

Though annoyed, Byrony was rather impressed. Rincewind had moved so fast, he had actually left a Rincewind shaped outline in the air. He was now standing on the other side of the room, red faced with his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

Vetinari smiled mirthlessly. "Ah, Byrony. I should have known you would take the initiative."

"Oh yes," said Byrony breezily. "I'm always taking the initiative. Taking anything not nailed down, really. Famed for it, in fact. Er… How did you get past the guards?"

"They seem to be currently occupied by two rather intimidating elderly ladies, one of whom insists on repeating the word 'Lawks!' in a rather loud voice."

Byrony hid her smile with a hand. "I see."

Rincewind tried desperately to make himself invisible, while his brain screamed. _Had the Patrician seen that? What had actually happened, exactly? Was he going to get into trouble for it?_

"I assume the iconograph worked?" Wordlessly, Byrony handed over the small box to her uncle, who turned it over in his long pale fingers.

"Excellent," he said finally. "I'll have the- what we _discussed_ ready for you tomorrow evening at the latest."

Rincewind's ears pricked up. What was _that_ all about? They were talking as though he wasn't there, and yet at the same time, they were being very careful not to mention anything in front of him.

"Great," said Byrony cheerfully. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll just take Rincewind away before the guards burst in and beat him senselessly" She looked fondly at the scruffy wizard. "It always seems to happen, bless him. Coming Rincewind?"

She stepped inside the secret corridor, out of sight. Hurriedly, Rincewind made to follow her, as being alone with the Patrician for any length of time did not figure highly on his list of 'Things To Do.'

"Oh, Rincewind?" said the Patrician.

Rincewind froze.

"When I said to stay close to my niece… Perhaps you might refrain from getting _that_ close?"

Rincewind opened his mouth.

Rincewind closed his mouth.

He settled on nodding silently, and stepping into the doorway in the wall, swinging the portrait closed behind him.

In the darkness of the room, Vetinari smiled.

Walking along the corridor, Byrony called back to Rincewind. "I just need to swing by the kitchens, if that's okay?"

No reply- Rincewind was hyperventilating. Mindless to this, Byrony continued down the now sloping passageway.

"The Chef is a little…_temperamental_, if you know what I mean. And I know I had a talk with the staff, but I really wouldn't put it past the games-men to try something, I really wouldn't. They were out all evening stalking the grounds. And I know that's their job, but really, they did it in a very sullen kind of a way." She sighed. "You know, I've always _got on_ with people. One of the things I'm proud of, and it does come in handy…but it seems that snobbery exists everywhere, really. Anyway, sometimes it's hard, you know? Everyone relies on me! Everyone seems to think I'm always _capable_, and I'm at the beck and call of every damn dignitary looking for- Rincewind?"

Rincewind, who had been lost in a world of his own, musing about the Patrician's scorpion pit, looked up guiltily. "What?"

Byrony sighed. "Never mind. Look, we're here!" She gently pushed on a piece of wall that was completely indiscernible from any other piece of wall, and it squeaked open. They peered out, and were greeted by the hot hustle and bustle of a kitchen in full flow, with piles of plates being transported across slippery floors, and steaming dishes being created and tasted. If they stepped out, they were in danger of being caught in the flow.

"Ladies first," said Rincewind firmly.

"Now, don't be silly. It's a kitchen, nothing can happen."

"There's a _lot_ of knives in a kitchen, Byrony. A lot of knives. In fact, I might point out that there are more knives in a kitchen then there are in normal rooms. What were you saying about a temperamental Chef?"

"I _am_ Lady of the manor, you know," said Byrony rather uncertainly.

"Of course you are," nodded Rincewind. "So I think _you'll_ be going first, seeing as if a complete stranger stepped out of the wall I suspect the staff would take _sharp_ action."

Byrony peered out hesitantly into the chaos, while someone shouted at someone else, and someone dropped a lot of plates that promptly shattered.

"Hey," she said brightly. "I've an idea. Let's go via the pantry!"

"Wonderful," said Rincewind. Byrony walked a little further along and rounded a corner. She pressed against another piece of seemingly blank wall, which again swung open, but smoothly this time. The shouts and screams of the kitchen were muffled, and Rincewind followed her out hesitantly. They had stepped out of a door made out of a cabinet in the wall that was filled with pheasants into a room simply crammed with dead things.

"Urgh," said Rincewind. "Is that dinner?"

"The games-men have been busy," said Byrony thoughtfully. "I wonder, what's their plan?"

"Is there actually a dinner this evening?" asked Rincewind, who was watching a dead rabbit nervously. He was sure it was looking at him. "The invite just said a ball."

"Oh, it's more of a buffet thing," said Byrony making for the larder door, which promptly swung open revealing a maid, who opened her mouth and then screamed

The whole kitchen stopped and stared. Screaming was a matter of course in a kitchen, it practically made the food taste better, but the screaming was generally done at other people. No one screamed into larders.

Then their stares shifted over to Byrony and Rincewind, who had been, for some reason, alone in the larder…together. Things dripped off of ladles, pots began to boil over and knives hung motionless over vegetables that needed chopping.

"Er. Well done, excellent cooking," said Byrony jovially. "Jolly good show. Good stirring there, very good stirring. Er…"

Suddenly a huge, mountain of a man sporting a very red face and a ridiculously tiny moustache, came to life. "_Back to work_," he bellowed, and the kitchen suddenly came to life again, with pots and pans clanking, people yelling and things being spilled.

"Phew," said Byrony. "Awkward or what?"

"Or what?" said Rincewind anxiously watching as the large man made his way over to them. "Ah- this Chef. How temperamental is he? I mean, are we talking a little moody, here?"

As the Chef came closer, he seemed to get ever larger. The man could have his own orbit, and range of tides. He practically had a circumference.

"Or is he say, totally psychotic, would you say? In a room full of knives? Byrony? Would you say?" Byrony elbowed him into silence as the Chef drew near.

"Don't say _anything_," she hissed. She had a smile plastered onto her face, aware that this could go one of two ways…

"_Byrony_!" bellowed the Chef. "_What took you so long_?" He then enveloped her in a smothering hug. Now he was closer, Rincewind could see that he was actually quite elderly, and the small moustache was streaked with grey. He let her go, and dabbed his eyes with his apron. "Haven't seen you in, oh, over three years, I'd say?"

"I'd say that's about right," beamed Byrony, a little smugly. "Just came down to see how everything was running, you know."

"Pah." The Chef shook his head disgustedly, causing his chins to wobble. "The day I need a little hellion to check on my kitchen is the day I drown in a pot of my own gravy. But look all you like–" He suddenly caught sight of Rincewind, who had been rather hoping he wouldn't. "And who is this?"

"This is Rincewind."

"Really? Rincewind?" The Chef raised his eyebrows, obviously angling for more information. Byrony smiled sweetly at him.

The Chef harrumphed. "Fine. Go. Look all you like, and don't tell me anything. Me, the man who fed you all your childhood meals. You think you'd be so strong and healthy without me?"

"No-oo," said Byrony cheerfully. Clearly this was an old and comfortable argument, played out between them many times before. It was the Chef's favourite guilt trip, and he often used it when she withheld information. He flounced of, still berating Byrony as she followed him and played along.

Rincewind was left alone, a small island in the middle of the chaotic kitchen. He turned around to get a full 360 degree idea of what the kitchen looked like. Also, it would probably be a very good idea to know where the exits were, just in case the Chef decided to flip to the other side of his temperamental nature.

Then he came face to face with the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The main drinks cabinet.

It spanned the entire wall, and it was filled with every alcoholic beverage known to man. The bottles gleamed and glistened, and seemed to call to Rincewind. If the had had clothes, they would have taken them lasciviously off, and danced around, begging him to drink them…

A hand clapped onto his shoulder and he nearly screamed.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Byrony, joining him as she wistfully looked up at all the shining bottles.

"Think anyone would notice if we in fact didn't go to the ball and spent the entire evening down here getting pissed?" asked Rincewind furtively.

They thought about it.

"No," said Byrony, sighing regretfully. "It's my ball, I should _probably_ make an appearance."

"We could take some along," suggested Rincewind, eying the cabinet hopefully. "And we could trust ourselves not to get roaring drunk."

"_Could_ we trust ourselves though?"

Rincewind thought about the last time they had been in a bar together. "I see your point. We could just get roaring drunk anyway."

Byrony laughed. "We should probably be sensible about this."

"Good grief, I should hope not. I'm standing over a thousand miles from home in the kitchen of an over-emotional man with a large supply of sharp things, while on a mission to save the disc from domination from a megalomaniac and talking to, no offence, a masochistic young woman who is placing this ridiculous mission before her own well-being. And now you're saying I can't have a drink?"

Byrony grinned ruefully and took his arm, sending tingles up and down Rincewind's spine. "Come one, we had better go. You need to get to the ball-room, and there's probably a team assembled in my room, ready to paint stuff on my face and strap me in things so I can't _breathe_."

She yanked Rincewind through the kitchen and back into the larder. The larder door swung closed, and they were in the musty darkness. Rincewind reached out his arms, trying to find the wall.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!"

He heard Byrony try to find the door again, wincing happily as she let out a string of expletives when she knocked over a pot and it shattered. He missed Byrony's swearing. It could be so informative.

"That was a Klatchian vase, yer know," said a voice.

Byrony and Rincewind froze. A match flared, and the pile of rags in the corner lit its pipe.

Byrony said "What's that?" at the exact same moment that Rincewind said "Hinkle?"

"A Klatchian vase," said Hinkle reproachfully. "Genuine Klatchian pottery, that was. Made by a Klatchian craftsman. From Klatch."

Byrony stared at him in the dim light cast by the glow of the pipe, totally nonplussed. "Who are you? And why are you in my larder?"

"That's Hinkle," said Rincewind.

"Thass me," said Hinckle happily puffing on the foul smelling pipe.

"He was our driver," explained Rincewind. "He's a total loony," he added, feeling justified in doing so.

"Thass me," agreed Hinkle. "Mad as anyfing, miss." He raised his pipe cheerfully to Byrony.

"Right," said Byrony uncertainly. "And you're living in my larder, are you?"

"I wouldn't go into it," advised Rincewind.

Byrony shook her head and opened the secret passageway. "You didn't see us, okay?" she said to Hinkle.

"Didn't see anyfing miss," nodded Hinkle. "You jes' count on me. I'll batter _anyone_ 'oo even _tries_ to go frew there. Your young man'll take care of you anyhow, I'd imagine."

Before she could engage, Rincewind pushed Byrony through the door, back into the dusty way between the walls.

"What an _interesting_ man," she said.

"That's one way of putting it," Rincewind said.

They continued along their way in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Rincewind was thinking about whether or not he actually _was_ Byrony's young man, and what did that entail, exactly?

Byrony was thinking …other thoughts. These thoughts were related to Rincewinds thoughts but they were also different. They were a lot calmer, for one thing.

She was still limping, Rincewind noted. Her colour had improved a little, but there were still dark crescents under those green eyes.

Finally, they came to a point where the passage split into two. "You go that way." Byrony pointed to the passage on the right. "It goes to the grand hall outside the ball-room and you can climb out of a painting there, when you hear voices."

She turned to him, looking somewhat amused. "Now, be _careful_, won't you? Don't fall out of the wall into a pile of guards, do you hear me? I know what you're like."

"Oh you know me," said Rincewind, rolling his eyes. "Can't get enough of adventure."

She grinned, and in a whirl of lilac scented air, she was gone.

It was only a after a few minutes of dazed stumbling that Rincewind realised she had taken the oil lamp with her.

The soldier put out his cigarette and eyed the gap in the stone wall. The wall itself was covered in strange drawings of vaguely humanoid shapes. It was narrow, but it wasn't the worst he had faced. At this time, all he wanted was to get this damn thing over with, and to go home. He had no doubts that he could do it- after all, he had done things much more difficult then this before.

He squeezed through the tight space between the rocks. As soon as he recovered the damn thing, he'd be beck home and rewarded handsomely if the rumours were true.

But….

He couldn't breath now, he was pushed so tight into the earth. The stone was _moving_, it was pressing in on him.

He was being pushed and squeezed and twisted by the very rock. It felt as though his very being was fused into the stone…

Any traveller coming this way, would have found strange etchings on this stone. Very strange etchings indeed.

After a while, Rincewind came to the conclusion that he was lost, and was doomed forever to wander within the walls. Perhaps, he thought mournfully as he stumbled along in the gloom, perhaps my ghost will wander the halls of the manor. He thought about this for a little bit, and then decided that no, it wouldn't.

Luckily just as Rincewind realised how boring a life of haunting would be, he heard voices filter through the walls. The voices seemed to have a nasally sort of tone that could usually be attributed to the upper-class.

I must be in the great hall, he thought as he frantically began to scour the walls for switches, levers or (getting desperate) door handles. What had Byrony done? Whatever it was, it had been so minute that Rincewind hadn't seen it. A life of haunting was looking pretty likely at this point.

Suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, the wall in front of him swung open and Rincewind slapped down noisily on cold marble floor. When he was sure that the action wouldn't cause his face to peel away, he lifted his head.

The hall was deserted. Thanking any deities in the vicinity, Rincewind hurried towards the grand golden door at the end of the hall, and slipped between them.

The room he entered was hot, brightly lit and filled with people. They were all well dressed, and some had their faces painted white. Others boasted tall wigs that nearly scraped the ceiling, and Rincewind caught a glimpse of one woman who had affixed a miniature windmill to hers.

Dodging between the high-borns, Rincewind began his search for the promised buffet. Then he spotted it and almost howled with delight as he took in the groaning table, the piled high plates, the silver tongs and…the potato salad.

Less then three minutes later he was the proud owner of an over-flowing plate and he wandered the ballroom with his features happily smeared with cream. He needed somewhere quiet to consume the rest of the plate though…He glanced around until his eyes alighted on a small tight-knit group, its members muttering urgently to each other. That looks nice and quiet, he decided. He wandered over and leaned against an ornamental plinth while raising the first forkful to his mouth.

"Of course, Lady Winslow has always been…different."

Rincewind froze.

"Different? An unmarried woman taking a secret lover in Ankh-Morpork isn't different, it's madness."

"Well. Call her odd, then."

"Oh she's odd alright. She's got odd coming out her ears."

The group beside Rincewind was comprised of various nobles and ladies. The nobles were well dressed, powdered and primped- and that was just the men. The women fluttered their fans anxiously, as the men hooked their thumbs into their pale pastel breeches. Rincewind strained so hard to here what they were saying, he was sure he heard a twanging noise inside his head.

"A lover in Anhk-Morpork!" A woman with a heart shaped beauty-spot painted above her lip gasped. "Are you _sure_?"

A noble with a white powdered face nodded authoritatively. "Yes, she met him the last time she was there. Visiting the Patrician at the time, apparently."

The plinth beside the group wobbled as Rincewind tried to regain his composure. Byrony had a lover? In Ankh-Morpork? But that meant…that meant that while she was there, she had been seeing some other man the whole time! A slow ache formed in his chest.

"The Patrician let her run wild, or so I'm told."

"She runs wild anyway," muttered one of the younger men in the group.

"I agree, Sebastian," sniffed a young woman with a pointed nose and a sharp face. "It's _very_ odd. We don't hear from her for years, and now she's society's favourite?"

"No, I meant-"

"I heard she travels all over the Disc. _Hardly_ a suitable activity for a young woman of noble birth."

While the unpleasant woman was making her views known, Rincewind took the opportunity to squirm into the group, unnoticed.

"Anyway," said the man with the white powdered face loudly, attempting to regain his audience. "Anyway, he let her off, completely un-chaperoned I might add, with some total stranger. This mysterious lover was her guide around the city." A small thought suddenly became a growing suspicion in Rincewind's mind. No…surely not. _No_ _one_ in their right mind would _ever_…

"Apparently, he saved her life or something."

The cold ache in Rincewind's chest suddenly became a flooding warmth. There was no lover, no other man! It was all a misunderstanding! They thought…they thought…

Oh shit.

Rincewind stood bolt upright, now scanning the crowded ballroom furiously. The last thing he needed now was someone to come over and say something like: "Hey, did you lot know that Rincewind guided the Patrician's niece around Ankh-Mopork?! Yes, _all over_ Ankh-Morpork!! Spent _hours_ alone with her!!!"

However, the conversation was continuing on with out him, and he was helpless not to listen.

"Never mind all that," said the beauty-spot woman eagerly. "What's _he_ going to do about it?"

The huddled close together again and launched back into fervent conversation.

"_I _hear Rowel is going to take her ardent lover and have him chopped into a thousand pieces."

"I heard he's got his troll guard out searching for him."

"I hear he's going to tie him to a stake and set the dogs on him, and take bets on how long he lives."

"Er. Any idea what this ardent lover looks like?" asked Rincewind anxiously.

"They say he's taller then a house, with muscles like a troll and has locks of hair like spun gold."

Rincewind nodded encouragingly.

"I personally don't see why Rowel doesn't cut him down where he stands," said the irritating man with the white powdered face. "I would, if my honour was at stake in such a manner."

At this, Rincewind felt it prudent to interject again. "Sorry, quick question. Why does Rowel want this man dead? I mean, what does it matter to him if Byr- I mean, if the Lady Winslow takes a lover…or possibly just a very good acquaintance of whom she happens to be very fond of, all physical details of their relationship aside?"

They stared at him, in the manner that all people do when they are faced with the truly ignorant. Then they told him, and marvelled at the vein that throbbed out of his forehead.

"_Engaged?_" Rincewind growled.

"Well, not exactleah," said the white-faced man, his eyes fixed on the purple worm of a vein on Rincewind's brow. "But it's been expected since they where born. They're two of the most noble families this side of the Disc. It would be unthinkable for them to take anyone else."

"_Engaged_?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking- I say, are you quite all right?"

Thankfully, it was then that a young man diverted Rincewind's attention by blowing a trumpet directly into his ear.

"Sorry about that," said a worried man with rather runny eyes after they had picked up Rincewind off the floor. "Shawn doesn't seem to have the hang of the whole heralding thing."

"_What_?"

"I said sorry about your ears!"

"_What_?"

A few minutes and a couple of drink later, Rincewind was feeling much better and was nodding along happily as the strange man talked enthusiastically about something called irrigation. His hearing wasn't 100% yet, but judging by the few words he picked up from the stream of that was flowing from the man's mouth, this was probably a good thing.

"Verence, I hope you're not boring this man."

Rincewind turned, and came face-to-face with what looked like a may-pole draped in gold. It was a thin young woman with a red nose and fly-away hair. Rincewind thought she rather resembled a dandelion at around two o'clock.

"Not at all," said Verence. "I'm explaining our new crop-rotation system."

"I know. That's why I mention the word boredom." She smiled at Rincewind. "Hello, I'm-"

"_Quuueeeen Maaaagrat of Laaaancre_!" bellowed the young man beside her. Magrat held up a hand to her ear.

"Shawn," she winced. "We talked about this. You only herald when we enter a room. I can do my own introductions."

"Yes, and I think it's time you put away the trumpet too," said Verence firmly. "Mr. Rincewind got quite a nasty shock."

"I feel much better now," volunteered Rincewind, which was true. Alcohol generally had that affect.

Shawn sloped off, looking slightly sulky, and the couple visibly relaxed at his parting.

"He means well," said Verence shaking his head.

"He does," agreed Magrat. "He just gets over enthusiastic sometimes."

"Er. Sorry," said Rincewind. "But did you say you were _Queen_ Magrat?"

"Of course she's a queen," said Verence jovially. "She's my wife!"

"Ah. And you'd be a king, would you?"

Verence blinked. "Goodness, didn't I say that?"

"You didn't say that," said Rincewind firmly.

"I could have sworn I did."

"You didn't. I'd have remembered."

"_Anyway_," Magrat cut in. "I just wanted to thank you for bringing Little Esme back to her room when she went wandering. She said she had a lovely time with her Uncle Rincewind."

Rincewind, who had been knocking back his drink when this was being said, sprayed out a fine mist of alcohol into the air. "_Uncle Rincewind_?"

A nanny appeared towing a small figure behind her. Little Esme was pushed forward, looking very fetching in a pale pink frock and with her hair neatly combed and tied up. The effect was rather spoiled by the knobbly knitted stuffed frog under her arm.

"What do you say?" said Magrat in that singsong voice that all adults use to prompt children.

"Thank-you-for-minding-me-when-I-was-bold-and-got-lost-on-purpose," said Little Esme. Clearly, it had been said time and time before.

"Oh. Er, you're welcome."

"Yes, thank you so much. Esme tends to enjoy bothering people. She said she was in Lady Winslow's room as well?" asked Magrat with polite interest.

"Yes, I called in to say hello. We're old friends."

Esme chose this moment to pipe up. "He helped her take off her clothes."

Silence.

As if attached to strings, every face turned towards Rincewind. He laughed weakly.

"Ahahahah. What will the child think of next?" he said desperately.

Then, the gold doors at the top of the grand stair case swung open…

Ten minutes earlier, Byrony had been waiting impatiently behind those gold doors for her escort to materialise- Because a woman couldn't be trusted to walk down the stairs by herself, by gum!

She tugged irritably at the scratchy material that went around the neck-line of her dress. This was the absolute limit, it really was…

Be honest with yourself, she thought glumly. The dress is really the least of your problems right now, isn't it?

The truth was, Byrony hurt.

Have you ever been beaten? Has your body ever been put through its paces to such an extent that every movement caused your muscles to scream? Byrony felt like that, but worse. She felt as though she had been strapped to the ground, and as if someone who hated her, really _hated_ her, had been given a big stick.

Every movement sent shards of stabbing pain shooting around her body. Her ankle ached and throbbed, and every breath she took felt like something was stabbing into her side.

And _now_ her bloody _escort_ was late!

Suddenly a figure appeared by her side and took her arm.

"Finally," she grumbled, shifting her weight off the useless ankle. "I've been w- you!"

She had been expecting to see the handsome and amiable (if not very bright) features of Lord Hudsley, of whom she was quite fond.

Instead, she had come face to face with a pale, perfectly composed demeanour wearing a pleasant yet disturbing smile.

Rowel.

"Dear cousin," he smiled, tightening his grip on her arm as she surreptitiously tried to pull it away. She'd shake him off if she could, but politics, politics…

"I should think you'd be _expecting_ me," continued Rowel, choosing to ignore her gentle but persistent tugging in the opposite direction. "It really is my _duty_ to escort you." His hand tightened its cold and clammy hold on her wrist. "After all, we are related."

"Related? Barely," said Byrony, forcing a laugh while her eyes darted around the empty hallway. _If I punched him out now,_ she though _No-one would ever have to know…_

"Nevertheless," said Rowel mildly. "As the only male relation present at your little gathering, I feel responsible for ensuring that you don't, shall we say, _sully_ our family name."

Byrony gritted her teeth at his wiser-then-thou nasally tone. "_My_ family name, Nicholas. However much you wish to be a Winslow, it's still just _my_ family name."

"We'll see," he replied mildly, still not letting go of her arm. "We were born to be together you know. The Rowels and the Winslows are two of the greatest families on the Disc, I mean, think of our blood-line-"

Byrony shook her head incredulously. "You're one of the few people I know who can make me nauseous on whim. Now _Master_ Rowel, let go before I _make_ you let go. I don't need a male family member present, I have Uncle Havelock."

He winced at the emphasis on _Master_, but regained his composure beautifully. "Ah, yes. The uncle who isn't really your uncle. You keep in contact with him, do you?"

Byrony paused. "Yes?"

"A very powerful man, Vetinari. Tell me, does the thought of all that power _appeal_ to you?"

Byrony looked at his pale, waxen face. "What are you suggesting?" she asked coldly.

"I suggest nothing," said Rowel, still wearing that infuriatingly calm, smug smile.

_He should be covered in slime,_ she though, and longingly imagined breaking those golden spectacles with her fist.

"Only I do wonder," he went on. "When you visit the great and powerful Patrician of Ankh-Morpork…and you spend all those cosy evenings alone in his study…what is it you actually _do_?"

"We _talk_," said Byrony, unable to stop the anger rising in her voice. "And we play Thud."

"Thud?" said Rowle inquisitively, his face stretched with that sickening smile. "Oh, is _that_ what they're calling it these days?"

_Hurt him!_ Her brain screamed as she stared at him, shocked to her core. _Grab him and _hurt_ him!_

But before she could, the golden doors swung open.

Rincewind watched as Byrony stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, arm in arm with a pale young man with gold glasses who was clad entirely in black. The millions of flickering candles cast a glow upon them, and the crowd hushed and craned to see.

Her sweeping, flowing dress was the deepest, darkest indigo and was speckled with shimmering diamonds to resemble the night sky. Her glossy hair was piled up on her head, and small diamonds had been woven into the curls so that the stars sparkled even in her hair. Perched on one side of her head, was a beautiful silver hair-piece in the shape of a crescent moon…

Because the Discworld is right on the very edge of unreality, little bits of realness tend to creep in whenever someone's mind is resonating properly.

This happened now.

Out of nowhere, Rincewind's head was filled with lines of poetry that certainly hadn't come from his own subconciousness…

'She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and her eyes…'

Considering that Rincewind was about poetic as a duck, this was really rather impressive.

_Hey_, he thought blearily. _I should really write that down_…

The ballroom broke into applause as the two descended, but Rincewind (once he shook off the pink clouds that filled his brain), noticed things.

Byrony was smiling, but he could see a tightness around her eyes. It was a fake smile too; horribly fake but good enough to fool the crowd.

And…was it just him, or was she angled a little _away_ from her companion? The young man with the vaguely worrying smile?

"That is Rowel," murmured Vetinari, causing Rincewind to jump and scatter various pieces of food throughout the crowd. "That is the man who would rule the Disc."

"_Him_?" said Rincewind aghast. "_He's_ butterfly boy?"

"Him," confirmed Vetinari, as the butterfly boy in question was dragged towards them. Byrony was doing the dragging; Rowel still would not relinquish his hold.

"Uncle Havelock!" she cried with forced joviality. "How _lovely_ to see you again."

"Your Lordship, the Lady Winslow was just telling me how she enjoys your company," said the man that Rincewind now knew to be Rowel.

For some reason, this innocent comment caused a look of barely contained rage to pass over Byrony's face like a cloud over a summer sun. Rincewind, who was well aware that Byrony's rage rarely _remained_ contained, braced himself.

"Is something the matter, Lady Winslow?" asked Rowel in his quiet and somewhat whiny tone.

The look vanished as quickly as it had come. "Of course not. You're quite right, that's exactly what I was saying. Has anyone tried the duck?"

Rincewind frowned. Apparently while _Byrony_ wasn't much good at containing her rage, it would seem that Lady Winslow was a dab hand at it. This whole political correctness situation was making him nervy.

Rowel turned to Vetinari. "And what does his Lordship think?"

"His lordship thinks that he is lucky to have such a dutiful niece," said Vetinari politely.

There. Rincewind saw it. For a split second, Rowel's mask of calm cracked and something entirely different came through. The face that peered through the mask was that of a mad man- And then it was gone, and his face smoothed over into a state of tranquillity once more.

"Quite," Rowel said stiffly, his face once more locked in its frozen smile.

Somebody, thought Rincewind, has something wrong with them. And whatever it is, it is not a little thing.

"Ah, now who is this distinguished wizard?" For one bright, shining second, Rincewind thought Rowel was referring to him, but the descending mass of the ArchChancellor soon put a stop to that.

"Mustrum Ridcully," boomed the ArchChancellor. He pumped the man's hand, and then had to surreptitiously suppress the urge to wipe his palm clean on something.

"And of course, I know who this is, don't I m'dear!"

While shaking her hand just as enthusiastically, the ArchChancellor deemed it appropriate to slap Byrony heartily on the back.

_That's right, _thoughtRincewind wearily, as he watched the blood drain from her face._ The woman has just fallen fifty feet off the side of a building but please, hit her on the exact place she landed, oh go on, _do_._

Ridcully was blathering on about how he had known Byrony since she was knee high to something or other, so she felt it was safe to tune out.

_What's wrong with this picture? _She thought morosely to herself as she tried to ignore her inner shrieks of pain. _I'm standing here, arm in arm with a man I loathe…_

_And Rincewind is right there._

_And we've yet to even make eye-contact._

She shifted slightly, taking the weight off her excruciatingly painful ankle, and continued smiling genteelly through her teeth. She had lied to Rincewind earlier: Her ankle _wasn't_ sprained, it had been dislocated. She had put a strap of leather between her teeth and grabbed the bedposts.

And Doctor Lawn had taken her ankle, and _pulled_…

She glanced up, and Rincewind was looking right at her. _He knows_, she thought faintly, as waves of pain from every part of her body began to wash over her. The painkillers were wearing off.

The orchestra started up, and couples began to break away from the crowds. Soon the white marble floor was filled with spinning, gliding couples.

Rincewind seemed to reach a decision. He had no particular experience of these things, but he had a vague idea of how it was supposed to go.

"Lady Winslow?" he quavered, cutting across a rather disgruntled ArchChancellor. The he coughed, and in a rather gruffer tone, said: "May I have the honour of this dance?"

He bowed stiffly and extended a hand in her direction, slightly suspicious that he looked like an utter pillock.

"Seriously?" said Byrony, forgetting herself in her astonishment. "Er- I mean, _La_ sir, if you think you must!" She snapped open her fan and simpering, allowed herself to be led away by Rincewind.

Once out of ear-shot however, and once they were away from the shocked faces, it was a different matter.

"Pillock!" hissed Byrony, while maintaining a pleasant and sunny expression.

"You have to dance, right?"

"So?"

"Better with me then him!" Byrony looked at him. "That is," said Rincewind hurriedly. "He would notice your limp. Yes, that's it, and then he'd know about your little excursion off the side of a building. And we don't want _that_, do we?!"

They made their way out onto the dance floor.

"Fine. Point taken," said Byrony, disgruntled. "But tell me, do you know how to dance?"

"Er-"

"Marvellous!"

"Look, you just sort of lean on me, and guide me and I'll take your weight."

"I don't _need_ you to," lied Byrony, her eyes dark with pain.

"Of course you don't," soothed Rincewind. "Come on, we're getting in peoples way."

Indeed, it was true. Couples were banging into them as they attempted to glide gracefully across the floor, and giving them nasty looks.

"Quick," urged Byrony. "Put your hand on my waist."

"_Where_?"

"My waist, Rincewind, my waist!"

Gulping, Rincewind placed his hand on the body part in question, and he and Byrony assumed the appropriate dancing position.

"All right," said Byrony warily. "Now, start slow and let _me_ lead."

So, with Byrony counting out a waltz time under her breath, they began to dance.

It wasn't actually as bad as could be anticipated, though Rincewind kept glancing down at his feet. He had a wiry sort of strength, and he found he could take Byrony's weight quite easily so she could dance on her damaged leg.

After a few minutes they managed to hit a rhythm in their dancing, and found that they were enjoying themselves. There Rincewind was, Byrony in his arms and no one telling him he was letting down a thousand years of wizarding tradition. Byrony, on the other hand, kept up a constant stream of insider information on the various scandals that plagued the surrounding nobles and finally had someone to make fun of the whole event with.

They- well, they never really _glided_ across the dance floor, but they achieved a really rather pleasing sort of drift.

Rowel watched the couple, a rather bemused expression on his face.

"Who _is_ that wizard?" he mused out-loud.

"Oh, that'll be the Dean," came the reply. Ridcully shook his head. "Sorry about that, he always gets over-excited at these damn things. Dean! I say, _Dean_! The buffet is for _everyone_, there's a good chap!"

"No, I mean that one there. The tall skinny one, with the bad beard and floppy hat."

"Oh, _him_? That's just Rincewind. Scruffy fella. Good with a banana. Not sure why we keep him about the place. Well, he _is_ our Egregarious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography, to be fair."

"Oh, really?" Once the wizards unimportance was established, Rowel rapidly lost interest. He turned away and was just about to leave the conversation, when-

"He gave your cousin a tour of the city, last time she visited."

Rowel's face froze. "Pardon?"

"He was her tour guide, doncherknow. Showed her the sights and whatnot." Ridcully waggled his eye-brows at Rowel, and turned to take a proffered pastry from a passing tray. "Saved her from some nasty business in the Tower of Art too. A serial killer, or something. Have you tried the duck pastry things? They're deli- Oh, you've gone…"

Rowel marched and pushed through the dancers until her reached the empty circle of calm that surrounded Rincewind and Byrony. They were just swaying gently in time to the music now. He was saying something, and she was laughing.

_Laughing_.

Rowel grabbed Byrony's wrist and yanked her away from the wizard.

"Hey-" began Rincewind, but then stopped, as Rowel was squeezing her wrist so tightly he could almost hear the bones scraping together. Then Rincewind realised.

_This is a man who takes butterflies, a man who takes beautiful things and stabs them with something sharp. This is a man who takes pride in catching things that are hard to catch and locking them in glass boxes._

This is the man who would marry Byrony.

The man in question was now slowly twisting her wrist, as he glared into her eyes.

"Him?" Rowel hissed furiously, with a jerk of the head in Rincewind's direction.

Rincewind watched incredulously as she didn't make a move to stop him- after all, had once _personally_ seen Byrony kick a man so hard in the crotch that he vomited up his back teeth.

Instead of issuing such instant justice now, she simply stared coldly back.

"Him," she affirmed. Then she-

Well, no one at the ball was ever _quite_ sure what happened after that.

Lady Winslow seemed to _slip_ on the marble floor, _gripping_ Master Rowel's shoulder as she went down, and in an effort to regain her balance she sort of _twisted_…

There was a loud sickening _crack_ accompanied by a shriek, and Rowel sank to the floor white-faced and whimpering. His arm was sticking out at a very odd angle indeed.

Byrony looked out at the sea of startled faces. "Silly me," she trilled gaily, snapping her fan open. "Whatever have I done?"

She had, in fact, popped his arm right out of its socket.

Just on general principles.

Quite some time later, after Rowel had been taken away to have his arm strapped and bandaged in peace, Rincewind stood at the edge of the dance floor. In his hand, he held a chicken drumstick and on his plate was a delicate array of mashed potatoes and coleslaws. Both lay forgotten as he watched her twirl across the dance floor with some berk in an officer's suit and a pony-tail.

He was pretty sure the idiot had some form of an earring too.

The bastard.

At some point, the Librarian ambled by with a buffet-plate that was taller then he was.

Rincewind heaved a sigh, and glanced to his left. "You too, huh?"

Ponder was standing on there, his eyes miserably following the dancers, and he jerked at the sound of Rincewind's voice.

"What? What do you- _Me_? Hah, no," he let out a peal of desperate laughter. Rincewind edged away from him. "No," continued Ponder. "I'm afraid that you're very much mistaken. I mean, I'm a _wizard_ and wizards…wizards…"

"Don't do that sort of thing?" suggested Rincewind.

"Apparently not," said Ponder rather gloomily. "Is it because- I don't know. Is it the magical flares? As wizards, perhaps we're naturally attracted to large sources of magic?"

"The rest of the faculty don't seem to be having any difficulty," Rincewind pointed out.

"Yes, but they're…not as young as they were. It's only natural that certain _urges_ would have, er, shut down, as it were."

"Er- urges, you say?"

"Come on, you must have noticed that the faculty don't do it as often as they used to?"

Rincewind went quiet for a little bit. "What are we talking about here?" he asked very carefully.

"Magic of course! When was the last time you saw the Dean do any conjuring, I might ask?"

Rincewind gave the young wizard a long, slow look. "Magic?"

"Yes. What else would I be talking about?"

Rincewind patted Ponder on the shoulder. "Nothing."

He moved away then, leaving Ponder muttering about flares and magnetism-Rincewind didn't want to spoil his fun, so he had refrained from mentioning that Byrony was wearing her modulator, so it couldn't be the magic pumping out of her that made her so…something. It was a nice looking piece of jewellery though, to the untutored eye. It swung on its golden chain, resting just below the hollow of her neck.

Feeling rather at a loss, he wandered back over to the buffet on the basis that- well, that it was there, really. The ball was turning out to be pretty boring at this point. Oh, it had been fun at first- hob-nobbing it up, stuffing himself with food and pretending to know what everyone else was talking about. It had also been pretty amusing watching Byrony pretending to be someone else. Rincewind didn't know who that someone was, but whoever they were they laughed a little too loudly and showed too much teeth when they smiled.

It was still funny though, because whenever she made a stupid 'I'm just a little woman' remark, she would drop Rincewind a lazy wink and a grin.

For example, Byrony had been seated on the chaise lounge surrounded by an assortment of Lords and Ladies making what they thought were witty comments. Rincewind had been on the edge of things, and had seen Byrony steadily becoming more and more bored. Then Lord Sellachii had begun a lengthy story about his last expedition through deepest, darkest Klatch…how the man made deepest, darkest Klatch sound about as riveting as pipe-cleaning remained a mystery.

It was only when he described the beautiful symmetry of the tiger that Byrony felt the urge to speak up.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, pulling an appropriately lady-like face, all open mouth and wide-eyes. "The _poor_ thing!"

"I beg your pardon, your Ladyship?" Sellachii had politely enquired.

"Why," she said, casting an evil glance over at Rincewind. "I hadn't realised the poor thing was dead!"

At that moment Vetinari, who had been indulgently watching over the proceedings, came down with a rather suspicious cough.

Rincewind walked away, grinning to himself as the lords explained that, no, he meant _symmetry_ ladyship. Not cemetery. Not cemetery _at all._ No, it's _quite_ all right, _anyone_ could make the mistake, it his own fault really wasn't it? Didn't make it clear enough, did he! No ladyship, I _assure_ you, the fault here is _entirely_ mine…

And so on they went, completely unaware that she was laughing at them all behind her eyes.

It was odd really, thought Rincewind, standing by the buffet as the latest duke (or prince, or what-have-you) she was dancing with dipped her low. She wasn't the most beautiful woman there, not by a long shot…but there was something about her. Maybe it was the proud tilt of her chin, or the barely-contained-crimes suggested by the gleam in her eyes. Maybe it was the laugh that hinted at a thousand dirty jokes, just on the cusp of hearing…

As the song ended, the noble bent and kissed Byrony on the hand.

"Bloody pillock," muttered Rincewind as soon as he was sure that he was out of ear-shot. "You're not even her type."

_Oh?_ said the voice of the long-forgotten libido. _And what exactly is her type then? Is it a skinny strip of a not-very-good wizard, perchance? It is? Wonderful, you're in for the running then._

Rincewind was just about to point out that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit when he was suddenly distracted by a disconcerting sight. Byrony was standing by herself, swaying slightly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glassy with pain, reflecting the flickering candles of the room. He began to stride quickly towards her, tossing his food on the way. (It landed on a Duke, but never mind.)

"Byrony?" he hissed, as he reached her side. "Are you all right?"

She was staring at nothing as she reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing it tight.

"Is there anyone watching me?" she asked urgently.

"What? No, I don't think so. Apart from me, of course."

"You don't count."

He caught her just as her knees buckled.

"Ah, Lady Winslow," he gabbled loudly for the benefit of anyone nearby. "Let's admire the view, shall we?" Ignoring the stares, he half-carried, half-dragged her over to a handily placed balcony and firmly shut the swirled-glass doors behind them.

Rincewind found himself at a loss. What did people usually do in these situations? Normally he was the one passed out, so he didn't feel to be in a position to comment. Though he had been kicked in the ribs a lot…

Disregarding that suggestion, Rincewind opted for a gentler version of a method that had once been used on him to bring him round. He propped her up on the wall of the balcony and lightly tapped her cheeks.

"Come on, Byrony. Come on," he muttered urgently. He glanced at the doors, catching several people in the act of trying to peer through the distorted glass.

"People can see you're passed out!"

Suddenly Byrony came round with a gasp. "No," she said weakly, not opening her eyes. "They just think they've solved the mystery of my Ankh-Morpork lover."

Rincewind glanced down. From the way they were standing, it _did_ look a little like…

He dropped her.

She fell.

He swore and picked her up again.

In retaliation to the sudden authority he possessed over her, Byrony batted him weakly on the side of the head. "That hurt!"

"I _told_ you," babbled Rincewind, realising that if she was _admitting_ it, it was very sore indeed. "I _told_ you no good would come of you going to this ball!"

Completely ignoring him, Byrony closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, her hot forehead pressed to his cool neck.

"I _said_ it," insisted Rincewind, continuing on the long established tirade of the under-appreciated. "I _said_ this would happen."

"Didn't," she murmured, unable to stop herself from answering back.

"Did," said Rincewind firmly. "And did you listen? Of _course_ you didn't, you _never_ listen."

"Do."

"Don't. And another thing, why did you do all that dancing? Sprained ankle my- you don't have a sprained ankle, anyway! The damn thing is broken, isn't it? Well, isn't it? You'll never learn will you?"

No response. It was then Rincewind tried to angle his head so he could look at her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Her retaliations were stinted and weak and he was getting more then a little worried. Arguing was what they did _best_. Arguing was what they did _all the time_. Arguing was practically Byrony's hobby, and she included Rincewind wherever possible

"And," said Rincewind desperately. "And…" Inspiration struck. "And you were only dancing so you could flirt with that soldier!"

That did the trick. Her head jerked up and her eyes snapped open. "Was not!"

"Were too!" said Rincewind happily.

"Was _not_!"

"Were too!"

"We interuptin' something?"

Rincewind froze. Expecting the worst, he turned slowly, still clutching Byrony, to face-

Well, he thought faintly, he _had_ expected the worst.

Before him stood Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg, thankfully devoid of their witches' hats. Instead, they were dressed as, for want of a better term, maids.

"Wotcha wizard!" said Nanny Ogg cheerfully. "Thought your lot weren't allowed to do that sort of thing?"

"I'm not- we're not-"

"Leave him alone," chuckled Byrony weakly.

"Yes, but we're _not_-"

Suddenly, her eyes rolled back and any tentative grasp on consciousness she had was lost. Rincewind turned to the witches.

"Help her," he commanded.

For some reason, Granny Weatherwax seemed to examine him for a moment before nodding.

"Gytha, we'll be needing a distraction," she instructed Nanny Ogg, who promptly pulled two bottles of champagne from a recess that Rincewind would really rather not think about.

"No problem," she said, shaking the bottles as she made for the glass doors. "I'm _good_ at distractions."

"Now," continued Granny Weatherwax. "You take one arm, and I'll take the other. I reckon we can move pretty swiftly, eh wizard?"

"I can carry-" began Rincewind, but Granny shook her head.

"It's got to look nat'ral, you know that."

Rincewind nodded mutely, and together they hoisted Byrony's prone form up between them. For some reason, Granny was counting under her breath.

"Let's see now. I'd say five…four…three…two…"

Screams and yells began to filter through the glass doors. "Now!" she said, and they quickly went through. Unseen in the commotion of the rushing crowd, they carried Byrony across the back of the ballroom. Once through a door leading to a quiet servant's entrance, they lowered her onto an ornamental chair. Unfortunately, a servant happened to be using the servant's entrance, with a loaded tray balanced neatly on each shoulder.

"Um," he said reproachfully. "That chair isn't really for sitting in-"

"Bugger off!" snarled Rincewind, and the waiter scurried off, leaving only a couple of small egg-pastry things to mark his departure.

Ten minutes later, minutes which scraped by like eternity and mostly comprised of the sounds of Rincewind's anxious fidgeting, Nanny Ogg rushed around a corner with a thin, harassed looking man on her heels.

"I got the doctor," she panted, bending double in an attempt to regain her breath. "Cor, them posh people don't half make a fuss! Back in mo'!" Then she dashed off again.

Doctor Lawn nodded brusquely to Rincewind and Granny, and then quickly moved to Byrony's side. She was breathing shallowly, and sitting limply in the chair. He pressed a finger to her eye-lid and pushed it up; angling her head at the same time so an oil-lamp in the wall cast it's light over her face.

He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Pupils dilated and loss of consciousness. Was she finding it a struggle to stay awake?"

"Yes!" said Rincewind.

"Only to be expected really, not much you can do if you want to go out and about with a concussion. It's not something you can just put off until later."

"I _knew_ she was concussed, I _knew_ it."

"Right. Be a good chap and lift her skirts, would you?"

Rincewind blinked. "Sorry?"

"I've got to take a look at that ankle."

"_I'll_ do it," said Granny, pushing Rincewind aside and giving him a dark look, as though he was the one who had suggested skirt-lifting in the first place.

Rincewind quickly looked up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the urgent rustling of material.

"That's it," Doctor Lawn was saying. "I just need to make sure the splint- oh…"

At this small and worried noise, Rincewind looked down, carefully averting his gaze from the length of leg revealed. Strapped tightly between two thin lengths of wood, Byrony's left ankle was a horrible, throbbing red and had ballooned to twice its normal size. There was also a small bone protruding from her inner-ankle, and the skin around that was a bluish-purple.

"It popped out again," said Lawn, finally. "The bone popped out. She must have- was she _dancing_ on this?"

"Yes," said Rincewind, aghast. Her ankle was _dislocated_?

"Well, we gots to pop it back in again," said Granny firmly. "You know the rules."

"Right…" said Lawn vaguely. "I suppose the pain and the concussion must have triggered her black-out…and the ribs wouldn't have helped of course."

Rincewind had been staring at the horror on the end of her leg (and not looking at the leg in question at _all_) but at that final statement, he glanced up.

"Ribs?" he enquired, politely.

"Three of 'em broken," Granny informed him.

"_Broken_?"

"Least of our worries," said Lawn, as he reached into his shiny black leather bag and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. "She's strapped good and tight. Not much you can do for broken ribs, lad."

"_Broken ribs? _No one told me _anything_ about broken ribs!_"_

Suddenly Granny fetched him a ding across the back of the head with the hand that wasn't holding up yards of silky material.

"And what do you expect, eh?" she snapped. "We runnin' everything by you these days Mister wizard? Broken ribs is only to be expected! She fell off a building, and _you'd do well to remember that_."

Rincewind was about to open his mouth to explain that he would quite possibly never forget the sight of Byrony falling fifty feet through the night sky, but he shut it with a snap when he realised that the witch was speaking in code. She was telling him that while the Doctor was familiar enough with Byrony to believe that she would climb down the side of a building just for laughs, and while he knew _what_ had happened to her, he didn't know _why_ it had happened. Clearly Lawn was here just to fix up Byrony and go, but if Rincewind made any more protestations, the good Doctor might become a tad suspicious.

"Fine," muttered Rincewind sulkily. "I guess I'll just go over here, shall I? I'll just go stand in the corner then? I'm clearly not needed here, so I'll just- _is that a needle_?"

Lawn had pulled a nasty syringe from his bag, and was now filling it with the clear liquid from the small bottle.

"Yes," he said mildly. "It is, in fact, a needle. She needs the strongest painkiller I've got."

"Oh. But-"

"Shut up," ordered Granny Weatherwax.

All of a sudden, a small groan came from Byrony's prone form, and she struggled to sit up.

"No needles," she gasped. "No needles!"

"Come on now Byrony," said Doctor Lawn his voice cajoling. "Young women who scale high things for fun have to be prepared to face the consequences when they fall!"

"_Noooo_," said Byrony desperately, as Granny Weatherwax held her down. "No needles!"

"She has a compelling argument," quipped Rincewind.

"I said shut up."

"Sorry."

"Rincewind!" Byrony spotted him, standing nervously beside her. "Hit that man!" she said, pointing at Lawn.

"No, that's the doctor," said Rincewind firmly. "And _you_ have a concussion. You're in no position to be telling me to do anything."

"He's going to stick a length of metal in me! I'm _allergic_ to people sticking lengths of metal in me! It's done me nogood so far!"

Byrony was regaining some strength at this point, and Granny Weatherwax was beginning to strain against her. Feeling slightly like a traitor, Rincewind leaned over and held down Byrony's shoulders, pinning her to the chair. Granny Weatherwax let go, and bent to make sure the doctor was doing it right. Byrony struggled a bit more, but she was pale and drained and she finally gave up, slumping back in her chair and a flash of pain crossed her face.

"There!" said Lawn, sitting back on his haunches and wiping the syringe. "I can't imagine what the fuss was. I mean, that little prick was nothing compared to a dislocated ankle and three broken ribs."

"I just don't like needles," she mumbled. "I don't like people sticking _anything_ sharp into me, thanks." Then she seemed to realise something, and she looked guiltily at Rincewind. "Er- I have some broken-"

"Broken ribs," said Rincewind shortly. "I gathered."

"Er- I might have forgotten to mention that…"

"It seemed to slip your mind, yes."

Rincewind began to move away when Lawn warned: "Don't go anywhere yet."

"What? Why?"

Granny leaned over and grabbed Byrony's right shoulder. "The two of us will need to hold her this time."

"This time? _What_ time? What?"

Byrony smiled wanly at the wizards confusion, though she was gripping the handles of the chair so tightly that her knuckles.

"Silly man," she chided. "You're forgetting my ankle."

Realisation dawned, and Rincewind gulped. Feeling stupid, he said "Oh," and gingerly returned to her side to grip her left shoulder.

"Hold her firm," said Granny authoritively. "She's going to jerk when this happens."

"I'm still _here_ you know," said Byrony irritably. "Right below you, no need to talk around me." She stopped when Granny gave her a Look.

"Ready Byrony?" Lawn asked as he gently wrapped his hands around her foot.

"Ready," she replied, rolling her eyes as if this was a game, but Rincewind could feel her tense up under his hands.

"Look at the ceiling," Lawn advised her as he eyed the bones in her foot, gently tugging it to align them.

Byrony nodded, but she didn't look at the ceiling. Instead, she stared into Rincewind's eyes as spasms of pain wracked her face. Suddenly he reached down and gripped her hand, tightly and she squeezed back.

"Well, isn't this _fun_," she said mournfully.

And Lawn _pulled_.

Somewhere on the other side of Winslow Manor, there is a room that has no windows. No-one has ever been sure why it was built, but it is generally held that a mansion of such magnitude should hold every type of room that it's possible for it to have. And, apparently, one of the rooms that it's possible for it to have is a room is a room with no windows…so it does. But this is just the folly of the obscenely rich, and no-one has ever used this room for anything much…until now that it.

It was Rowel's bedroom.

He had never liked the light, and didn't understand why so many people thought it to be a wonderful thing, even a necessary thing. Yes, he had collected butterflies in the sun-shine as a boy, but his discomfort had made catching them all the sweeter.

Just like the discomfort he was experiencing now.

The doctor had twisted his arm back into its socket, but he still had to wear it in a sling. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his normally immaculate, slicked back hair mussed and his glasses askew. And he was furious.

"I sent seven teams," he said quietly to the man standing before him. "Seven teams of the best soldiers we have. Teams of four, each time, and not one team has returned successful."

"Er-"

"In fact, not one of them has returned at all."

"With respect sir-"

"Tell me captain, how is it possible that not one man has returned alive from these 'quests' as you _insist_ on calling them?"

"It's gone all _mythic _hasn't it!"

Rowel stopped. "_What_?"

The captain of Rowel's private guard coughed. "Sorry, sir. It's just that now...we think that you have to be... a certain type of person to get...the things you want us to get."

"Explain."

The captain nodded miserably. Oh, the pay was good, but no-one said anything about being alone in a room with the Disc's creepiest man.

"We think we've found the cave, sir. And I _know_ you said that the cave is no good without…those things…but, well, _this_ was on the outside, sir."

He passed Rowel a scrap of paper with lines of writing scribbled on it. Rowel took it with his good arm, and read it soundlessly, his lips moving slightly.

"Ah," he said.

"Is that good, sir?" asked the captain, a large and rather scarred man, hopefully.

Rowel just looked at him, and the captain closed his mouth with an audible snapping noise, biting his tongue in his haste. Paying no heed, Rowel returned to the scrap, poring over it once more.

"Yes," he said quietly to himself. "This may work to my advantage…I want guards outside the cave at all times," he ordered the captain.

The captain stood to attention. "Already done, sir," he replied, as he ripped off a marvellous salute.

"Then double the guard!" snapped Rowel. "And put the best men on it!"

"Er-" said the captain desperately. "They won't actually be our best men, sir, because, if you remember, we sent the _best_ men to get-"

"Yes, fine," said Rowel irritably, waving the captain towards the door. "Just do it."

"Yessir," said the captain, relieved. He backed hurriedly towards the direction Rowel's waving hand pointed him in. "Thank you sir."

The captain exited the room, and as soon as the door had closed behind him, he slumped against the wall. No _wonder_ the creepy bastard smiled all the time.

Because when he _didn't_ smile…

The captain shuddered and went to do his duty.

Inside the room with no windows, Rowel was not smiling to himself, because he didn't see the point. He was, however, very pleased.

"Yes," he said again, to the dark and empty room. "This could work out _very_ well."

The rest of the ball had been utterly painful.

Rincewind hadn't believed it at first, when they told him she was going to have to go back out there, but when it seemed inevitable, he had insisted that he would stay near for the rest of the night.

And that had been utterly _painful_.

She had been stiff, and her face had been stretched into a smile that was more of a grimace then anything else. By now, of course, most of the nobles present had been too drunk to notice much, especially since Nanny Ogg had brought out her Special Punch for Special Occasions made Specially.

After _that_ no one noticed _anything_ much.

Still, she had to be there, and Rincewind had been forced to watch as the circles around her eyes grew darker, her face grew whiter and whiter and her protestations grew weaker each time some idiot in a suit and a stupid grin pulled her to her feet to trip the light fantastic.

When the bells tolled 4 am, it had been as though the Gods had opened the skies and partaken in a spot of divine intervention. Of course, most of the merry-makers were in no mood to stop making merry, but it was now officially acceptable for Byrony to slip away, which is exactly what she did.

With a barely noticeable limp, she pulled away from the crowd begging her to stay, ordered more wine for all of them and bade them good-night. Rincewind met her at the painting in the passage, as they had agreed. She stalked along the corridor, limping at high speed as she shook her hair out of it's intricate up-do.

Not speaking, Byrony leaned over, gave the wall a thump and the painting swung open. She made to climb in, and was faced with a conundrum. If she put her right foot first, she'd have to lean on her dislocated ankle, but if she put her left foot first, she'd have to step down on her dislocated ankle and _either way_ was going to cause _extreme pain_-

"I'm carrying you."

She looked up. Rincewind looked impassively at her.

"I'm going to carry you to your room."

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted. "I'm perfectly capable of-"

"No you're not. And I'm going to carry you."

"You-"

"Remember that time that you knew me for two whole months and you never told me you were an enchantress?"

"That-"

"And remember that time you got me killed and brought me back using rat's life force?"

"You can't-"

"Remember when that giant was going to beat me senseless in that bar-"

"Now _that_ was not my fault," said Byrony firmly.

"He was going to rob you," explained Rincewind. "I tried to stop him."

"Oh. Well, let that be a lesson to you!"

"I'm _going_ to carry you, whine all you like."

"I am not whining!" said Byrony, but even as she said it, the fight began to drain out of her. Would it be so bad, just this once, to be the damsel in distress? All right, normally she abhorred the whole role-of-the-woman situation… I mean she even had a broken ankle for all the gods' sake, next minute people would expect her to scream all the time and to burst into tears at the sight of fluffy animals.

But this wasn't some swarthy buck with more brain then muscle.

This was _Rincewind_.

Rincewind looked at her. "Well?" he asked. "I warn you, I'm prepared to use force," he said, rather uncertainly.

Byrony sighed. "I'm temped to struggle just to see that," she said. "But, if you _insist_…"

"I insist," he replied firmly.

Reluctantly, she put one arm over his shoulders and let him lift her up into his arms with her skirts trailing the ground. Then she pressed the back of one hand to her forehead and said: "Ooh, alas!"

"What," said Rincewind, "are you doing?"

"I'm practising my swooning," explained Byrony. "Alas!"

"Stop that."

Rincewind climbed through the hole in the wall, which Byrony pulled shut by hooking her good foot around the edge.

"So," she said, as Rincewind carried her through the dusty passage-way. "Does this mean I'm off the hook for the whole rat life force thing? Take this left," she added.

"No," said Rincewind. "I'm going to hold _that_ one against you forever."

"What?! Put me down then!"

"Absolutely not."

"Put me down!"

"Not a chance."

They continued on like this until they reached the door that would lead to the hallway in front of Byrony's room. When she kicked it with her serviceable foot, it swung open and Rincewind stepped through into darkness. He stumbled his way through the gloom, bumping into walls while Byrony clung to his neck and tried to laugh quietly, and eventually made it to her door. Byrony used her good foot to press down on the handle and it swung open easily, revealing the pleasantly lit room.

"Oh good," she said. "Someone lit oil-lamps."

"Someone?" asked Rincewind, walking in and gently lowering her onto the bed. "You know, it a sign of being disgustingly rich when you don't know the names of all the people who do all the things you'd rather not do."

"I do know all their names," said Byrony, as she propped herself up on pillows. "There's just so many of them."

"Now that," said Rincewind, "is a sign of the _obscenely_ rich."

"Oh, shut up."

"You could have warned me. I mean, I gathered that you were of noble birth, but I mean, all this…!"

"All what?"

"The never ending house? The hoards of servants? How about the seats that are for looking at not sitting in? The peacocks!"

"I hate them, those evil bastards," said Byrony, plumping up one of the cushions on her bed. "You know, one bit me when I was six? I'm scarred for life."

"Right," said Rincewind wearily. "Well, now I know, I suppose. Goodnight, then."

He made for the door. "Wait," said Byrony urgently. "You could- er, you don't _have_ to go, is what I'm saying."

"No, I do," said Rincewind. "I mean, it's what? Five in the morning and I still haven't found my room yet? No, the longer I stay here, the worse it'll get. Not," he added, "That there's going to be any fighting for rooms on this place."

"No," said Byrony impatiently. "You could stay here."

"Yes," said Rincewind. "But then I wouldn't get to bed until six, so-"

"You could stay the night _here_, Rincewind."

"But I-"

Suddenly, the penny dropped.

Rincewind froze, and stared wide-eyed into space, his mouth working soundlessly. Byrony sat on the bed, waiting patiently for him to regain use of his vocal chords. She had never been very good at patient, however, and after a minute or so, she threw a pillow at him.

"Calm down. You could stay here for _sleeping_. No salacious deeds of any kind. Promise."

_You hear that? _said Rincewind's libido disgustedly_. How does it make you feel that _she_ is the one promising _you_ that? Isn't it meant to be the other way around?_

Go away, Rincewind thought. His libido was worrying him. It appeared to have a direct line to parts of his body that he wanted to ignore at the moment.

He regained his senses. "We-" he began, and then cleared his throat. "We need to talk," he said, a little hesitantly.

"No," said Byrony wearily. "Talking is, in fact, what we _don't_ need to do. Talking is _all_ we do."

"Byrony-"

She waved him into silence and indicated a patch of bed beside her.

"Sit," she said resignedly. "Talk."

Gingerly, Rincewind sat and tried to sort out the sentences in his head while simultaneously ignoring the mournful howls of his libido. Byrony watched him, smiling a little at the tortured expression on his face.

"The thing is," he said slowly. "The actual _thing_ is…I'm a wizard."

"No! Really?"

"I'm a wizard," continued Rincewind ignoring the sarcasm. "I always have been a wizard. I've only _ever_ been a wizard and…and…"

Rincewind looked into her green, concerned eyes and tried to articulate his feelings. What it all essentially boiled down to was that Rincewind was a wizard. It was engraved on his very soul. So, he wasn't good at magic. So what? Whoever said you had to be good at magic to be a wizard? He knew he was a wizard. Being good at magic didn't have anything to do with it. That was just an extra, it didn't actually _define_ somebody.

And one of the main parts of being a wizard is that- well, he in all honesty shouldn't even have been in her _room_.

"It's just that…I can't…"

Rincewind the Carpenter? Rincewind the Undertaker? Rincewind the _Postman_? All of these careers required knowledge and training that Rincewind didn't have. All right, so he wasn't any good at wizardry, but he'd _learned _how not to be good at it godsdammit!

It had been preying on his mind for quite some time now. If he continued with this, if he continued treating Byrony as if she was more then just another member of the opposite sex, then Rincewind would be doing something that a wizard wouldn't do.

And if he did something a wizard wouldn't do, then how on earth would people know he was a wizard?

If he wasn't a wizard, then what could he _be_?

"It's just that," said Rincewind, as if he had to drag the words out of his mouth. "I can't _do_-"

"Yes, all right," said Byrony hurriedly. "I know. You're a wizard, you can't do that sort of thing. As if," she added, "there's any other sort of thing to do."

"Oh. Good," said Rincewind, relieved. "I thought I'd have to explain."

"Ooh, yes. Do explain," said Byrony, with a grin. "Explain _exactly_ what it is you can't do," she said as she settled back on her bed, unaware that her movements caused her neckline to tug down a little. Rincewind's libido sobbed.

"It's just that," he continued quickly, "if we don't do that sort of thing, then that means…that would classify our relationship as 'just friends'. Right?"

"I suppose so."

"Right. And though I'll admit my knowledge of this whole area is shaky, I'm pretty sure that friends of the opposite se- Um. I mean, men who are just friends with women don't sleep in the same room as them, is what I mean."

Byrony opened her mouth. "Even just to sleep," Rincewind added.

"Are you _sure_?" asked Byrony. Rincewind remembered the first day he had met her, she had persuaded him to be her guide. Then she had persuaded him to go down the Shades. Then she had persuaded him to…Well, the point was, she was good at persuading him.

"I should go," he said hurriedly, making for the door.

Byrony's face seemed to close up. "Fine," she said, a little coldly.

"Er- I'll see you in the morning?"

"I would imagine."

"So we're…just friends then?" he added, his hand hovering over the door-handle.

"I suppose we are," said Byrony, closing her eyes tiredly. She was very pale. "Just friends."

Rincwind nodded. "Goodnight," he said quickly, and went through the door. As soon as it was closed, he leaned his forehead against it.

_You rat bastard_, said his libido.

Rincewind didn't have the strength to argue.

In her room, Byrony opened her eyes and looked at the door for a little while.

It didn't open again, but that didn't matter. It wasn't as if she was expecting it would.

It wasn't as if she was _hoping_ it would.

After a while, she just looked at the stars.

The next morning, Rincewind woke up in a random drawing room in some part of the Western Wing. He had curled up to sleep on a long, embroidered couch, and was only now discovering that it wasn't the type of couch you _sat_ on, let alone slept on. As he sat up, he gently twisted his neck from side to side and winced at the cracking noises this produced. He was disgusted to discover he had a magnificent head-ache, which wasn't very fair considering he didn't even get to drink anything last night.

Last night…

Rincewind groaned, and curled back up on the hard couch as memories assaulted him from all sides. Not just the whole snapping-of-the-ankle thing but the…

_Just friends,_ sneered his libido. _When was it _ever_ apart of the plan to be just friends?_

I didn't have a plan, thought Rincewind desperately, squeezing his eyes shut tight. I _never_ had a plan. Go away, it's much to early in the morning for this.

_Bet you wouldn't be saying that if you had stayed in her room. Bet you wouldn't be saying it was too early for me if-_

Rincewind sat up quickly, causing his head to issue a giant throb of pain as punishment. Distraction, that was what he needed. Distraction from everything, and _especially_ from himself.

He left the drawing room quietly, aware that though he personally hadn't drunk anything last night, he was surrounded by rooms occupied by those who had and any louder then necessary noises could earn him some serious physical pain. Judging by the sun in the sky, it was actually around three in the day or so, but there were no signs of life anywhere in the mansion.

He wandered around for a bit, sometimes poking expensive things which probably weren't really supposed to be poked. He continued down any staircase he saw, on the basis that 'down' would eventually lead to 'out' and that, hopefully, 'out' would eventually lead to 'food'.

When he finally exited through a door into the evening sun, he was lightly savaged by a peacock. It was not turning out to be a good day, and he hadn't even been awake for more then three hours. For a while, man and bird fought for supremacy and when the peacock finally ran away from his flailing hat, Rincewind watched it go in a yeah-you-run-like-that manner, much as one would eye the other man in a fight where one had emerged the victor. He was just replacing his hat on his head, when he suddenly realised he had had an audience the entire time. Right behind him, an old balding little man with a thin toothbrush moustache was standing by a piece of awful garden art, and a swarthy soldier stood by his side.

Rincewind stared at them. They stared at Rincewind.

Then they looked at each other.

They had a brief, whispered conference.

They turned back again.

"Rincewind the wizard?" said the old man uncertainly.

"Yes?" said Rincewind, muscles immediately tensing to flee.

The old man relaxed a little. "You have an appointment with her majesty, the Princess Emmaline of Istanzia for this time, wizard."

"You know, I'm _sure_ I don't"

"That's funny," the soldier said happily, clamping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Because the princess is sure you _do_."

"Oh," said Rincewind, faintly. That said it all, really.

As a result of the soldier's insistence that he see the princess right this very second, Rincewind's feet had hardly touched the ground the whole way up the tower, but his whole body touched it when he was dumped on the floor.

Nice carpet, he thought blearily as he was dragged to his feet again. I've always liked those little gold bits…

When the room finally stopped spinning, and when he had regained focus in both eyes, he realised that he was standing before someone seated on a rather fancy chair.

The Princess of Istanzia eyed him uncertainly. She was thin and pale, with white blonde hair and a rather pointed face. She wore a golden embroidered robe, and had a certain set to her eyes that indicated that she looked down upon everything, even when she was looking up at it.

"Rincewind the Wizard?"

"Er- yes?" he said.

"Really?" she asked a sort of horrified fascination.

"Really really," he replied firmly. There weren't a lot of things in this world that Rincewind was sure of at this moment in time, but one of them was that he was most _definitely_ him, dammit.

"Tell me wizard," said Princess Emmaline. "How are _you_ going to be of any help to Byrony while she attempts to regain me my rightful crown?"

Rincewind was semi-concussed, so he rather couldn't help thinking 'oh, your _rightful_ crown is it?'

"Ah," he ventured. "I'm pretty good at carrying things."

"Carrying things?"

"Yes. Or being the one who says 'Let's not be daft buggers.' I'm pretty good at that too."

The princess sighed a sad and mournful sigh that struck deep harmonics in the soul. Rincewind couldn't help feel that it sounded a tad rehearsed. She walked over to one of the glass windows in the tower.

"Your soul isn't committed to this task, Rincewind the Wizard," she said, as though this was something to be considered gravely.

"Oh. Isn't it?"

"Come here," ordered the Princess, losing some of her patience. Rincewind joined her at the window. She was fairly young and two foot shorter then him, but she vibrated with a sort of indignant power that has made dictators great.

"Look out of the window," she commanded. "Tell me what you see."  
"Fog," said Rincewind promptly.  
The Princess sighed. Sometimes the weather had no sense of narrative convenience. "_If the fog wasn't there_, then you would see a country in need of a leader."

"Would I?" asked Rincewind doubtfully. He had a suspicious feeling that if the fog wasn't there, all he'd see was miles of bloody forest.

"Artists!" said the Princess fervently. "Sculptors! Writers! All these people toil in the fields because there is no one in power to nurture them! And Rowel," she said his name as if it was synonymous with 'dirt'. "Rowel would have them go to war. Seventy percent of my people fight, and the rest dig up potatoes. I ask you, is this fair?"

Rincewind, who coveted potatoes like dirt-encrusted jewels, wasn't sure how to respond. This didn't matter however, because the Princess ploughed on regardless.

"This country doesn't need to be bigger, it needs _development_. The people need to be allowed to grow and to express themselves. They should be allowed to change the country with the very thoughts in their heads!"

"Vetinari told me that Rowel thinks he's building a better world for the people," Rincewind suggested.

The Princess turned to him, her eyes on fire. "You can't build a better world for people," she said quietly. "Only _people_ can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage."

There was a small silence. Finally, the Princess sighed. "Rowel. You've met him, haven't you?"

"Yes. Well, _met_ is a bit strong. _Experienced_ might be more accurate.

The Princess shivered. "He's mad, isn't he?"

"No."

"No?"  
"No, mad's when you froth at the mouth," said Rincewind firmly. "He's insane. That's when you froth at the _brain_."

She looked at him reflectively. "You know, perhaps it's not such a bad thing you're helping Byrony. You could be a great asset for her."

"Yes?" said Rincewind politely. "That's nice," he added, feeling that more was expected of him.

"Yes," said the Princess thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "Well, that is all I require of you, wizard," she said suddenly. "You may leave."

"Oh, good," said Rincewind in relief. He was shuffled towards the door by a guard and was unceremoniously pushed out.

Just as the door swung closed, the Princess called out: "Good luck on your quest!"

Rincewind stared at the door.

"_Quest?" _he growled. "What _quest_?"


	2. Enraged Mother Bears

_A/N __Apologies to minimog16uk, whose name I bungled in the first chapter._

_A__nd after all she's done for me…_

In her room, Byrony was packing a medium sized rucksack full of things that were really much too big to be fitted into a medium sized rucksack. This is a wholly female attribute, and if attempted by a male could result in serious injury, or even death.

She was filling the bag with long-lasting items, as one might pack were one to perhaps go out on a lengthy journey to face things that were as of yet undiscovered. She was also musing over a very intense talk she had just had with Granny Weatherwax concerning duties, places in the world and her general having thereof. It had definitely given her something to think about…

After a while, she became aware of a consistent and rhythmic thumping noise and she peered around the room suspiciously. She shrugged, and got back to the task at hand.

Then the thumping noise became louder…and louder…

Rincewind burst through the door, panting for breath.

"What…quest?" he gasped.

"Morning!" said Byrony brightly. "I hope you're ready to go!"

"Go…where?"

"Not sure what the weather's going to be like, but assume nasty to be on the safe side-"

"What…safe side?"

"I've packed a lot of food but I couldn't really say how long-"

"Byrony?"

"Yes?"

"What the _hell_ is going on?!"

"Didn't you get all that told to you?"

"Do I look like I'm aware of the days proceedings? Do I really look like someone sat me down and explained things?"

Byrony looked at the wizard, who was panting, red-faced and furious. "No," she admitted reluctantly.

"Then why don't _you_ do the honours?"

"Um. Alright." Byrony fiddled with the chords of the bag. "Er- You know the Orb?"

"I'm aware of its existence."

"Er- You know the way Rowel wants it?"

"Yes?"

"And the way he's willing to stab anyone who gets in his way?"

"Yes?"

"Or do away with them in other unpleasant and unusual ways?"

"_Yes_?"

"And you know the way he has all those soldiers out searching for it?"

"Yes?"

"And the way that they'll kill anyone who gets in their way?"

"Yes?"

"You know the way the Orb's hidden in Winslow Forest?"

"Ye-…" There was a pause. "_What_!?"

"The Orbs hidden in my forest," said Byrony helpfully. "And we're going to get it. Now," she added.

"You- you're not serious?"

Byrony resumed stuffing things into her bag. "It's a rare occurrence, but it happens. Yes, Rincewind, I'm being serious."

Then Rincewind had a thought…Stay as close as possible to my niece, he said…oh _no_.

The bastard _knew_.

Rincewind sank heavily onto the bed. "We have to go into this forest then?"

"Yes."

"To find the Orb?"

"Yes. Well, first we have to find four other stones. According to legend, they'll give us access to the Orb."

"_Legend_?"

"Yes, legend. Don't worry about it, I've got the whole thing written out."

"We're following a _legend_? I assume we'll be doing so with all the appropriate maps and compasses and things?"

"Nope."

"_Nope_?"

"The legend is very explicit about that," explained Byrony. "No help. Winslow forest may be one of the largest in the world, but I know it like the back of my hand. Well," she added as an afterthought. "The back of _someone's_ hand. Maybe not as well as my _own_ hand, but someone's hand, certainly."

"Fine," said Rincewind wearily. "No problem. This sounds exactly like my sort of thing. Get lost in an endless forest and die. Yes, that sounds exactly like my cup of tea that does."

"You're not going to die."

"Bet you a dollar we get jumped out on and stabbed."

"We're meeting up with two others," continued Byrony, ignoring him. "Uncle thinks I need help now that I've- Er…" she trailed off.

"How's the ankle?" chanced Rincewind.

"Very well, thank you," Byrony replied lightly, packing once more. "Doctor Lawn did a good job. He's from Ankh-Morpork too, you know."

"Really? Never heard of him."

"I don't think he's a member of the guild though…"

"Oh there isn't a doctor's guild in Ankh-Morpork. Sick people in Ankh-Morpork go to a vet. It's generally a better bet, because there's more pressure on a vet to get it right. People generally say 'it was god's will' when granny dies, but they get angry when they lose a cow."

"I see," said Byrony uncertainly, not really seeing at all. "Hand me that package there, would you?"

"So," continued Rincewind, offering her the indicated parcel which was heavy, and clinked. "It'd be safe to assume that Creep of the Year doesn't know what we're up to, then?"

"Absolutely," said Byrony. "And he's the Creep of the Centaury, never mind the year. Ye gods, there was always something _off_ about him. Like, if everyone was an orchestra, he'd be the violin that's slightly out of tune."

"Was he like that as a child?"

"You've _seen_ the butterflies. And I'm not saying that collecting butterflies isn't a healthy habit, but he took a little too much enjoyment out of the whole stabbing-and-imprisoning part, if you ask me."

"Gosh."

"And his parent's were such _nice_ people. Well, I say _were_…they say his fathers still alive, but Rowel's got him locked up somewhere so he'll die faster and he can inherit the title."

"Urgh."

"Yes. I suppose his parents never give him any of the things a sensitive young lad really needs."  
"What, you mean love and guidance?" asked Rincewind.  
"I was thinking of a good thrashing." said Byrony with narrowed eyes. "I know _I'd_ like to."

"Right. Don't ever have children, will you?"

"Shut up. Here, put your finger here while I tie the knot."

Rincewind placed his finger on the string tying the top of a paper bag, and gloomily watched his finger turn blue as she tied it up.

"Well, here we go. Off to be ravaged and jumped out on. Possibly both, and not in that order."

"Look," said Byrony impatiently as she finished the knot. "You don't get jumped on in a forest, all right? Well, I mean, you _do_ but not in my forest."

"No," said Rincewind, yanking his finger free and attempting to shake some life back into it. "You don't get jumped. You get lost, then wet and then hungry. Also bears. Enraged mother bears."

"Yes, but I've _explained_. It's a legend, so it'll all work out. The world just isn't working properly if it doesn't."

"Oh, yes," said Rincewind sarcastically. "Let's travel into a dark uncharted forest that goes on for miles without a map in the hope that our wanderings will somehow conform to general story telling. That's ideal, that is."

"Oh, stop your whining," said Byrony, and resumed packing her satchel

"If it's a legend, don't we get magic swords or something?"

"What would _you_ do with a magic sword?"

"Fair enough, fair enough. Forget the magic sword, but we have to have something. Like a cloak of invisibility or something."

"Dream on buster. All we have to work with is our native wit and cunning."

"But I'm not from around here!"

They continued packing and squabbling for the next half an hour, occasionally throwing things at one another and secretly enjoying themselves immensely.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," exclaimed Byrony, after Rincewind pointed out that they wouldn't need so much food on account of them being about to die from enraged mother-bear attack after they took three steps into the forest. "You're the one who won't let me pack my 500-pound crossbow with the armoured arrows."

"Are you _joking_? It's like exploding death strapped to your back! No, you'll use you unmagical sword and you'll like it." Rincewind disapproved of weapons. Weapons raised the ante far too high. It was much better to rely on a gift for talking his way out of things, confusing the issue and, of course, some well-soled shoes and a cry of 'Look, what's over there!'

Byrony grinned at him. "All packed then. Come on, the sooner we head off, the better."

Rincewind sighed resignedly. "Off on another wretched adventure. I'm doomed to have them, you know."

Byrony rolled her eyes as she pulled the bag on her back. "I know, I know."

They began the long trek down to the ground floor, pulling rations out of the rucksack when they became peckish.

"So, d'you know who these people are?" asked Rincewind, his mouth full of dried apricot. "You know, the ones we're going to throw at the enraged mother bear while we flee."

Byrony swallowed a large amount of chocolate. "Well, they're from the Counter–Weight Continent. That's all I really know."

"Really? Those people don't travel much, you know. It's not in their heritage."

"Oh, you've been to the Counter-Weight Continent, have you? Where _haven't_ you been."

Rincewind was smart enough to notice the non-question in the question.

"Well," he said defensively, "Where haven't _you_ been?"

Byrony glanced at him, and then looked off into the distance as she walked, giving the question its due consideration.

"Well," she said slowly. "I haven't been to Fourecks."

"Pity," said Rincewind with feeling. "You'd love it."

"And I haven't been to Krull or Bhangbhangduc," she continued slowly. "And…"

They walked on in silence for a little while.

"And some of Klatch," she said finally. "I haven't been to some parts of Klatch."

"Which parts?" asked Rincewind.

"The swampy ones," said Byrony. "I'd quite like to visit those."

"Really?" asked Rincewind, with horrified fascination.

"Oooh, yes!" said Byrony cheerfully. "I hear they've got bugs as big as your arm down there!"

"They do."

"I'd like to see _that_!"

"Well," said Rincewind, as they walked along. "Tell me who our team-mates are and perhaps if they aren't as suicidal as you, we may get out of this one alive."

"Um," said Byrony, pulling out a scrap of paper which her Uncle had presented to her over three hours previously. "Says here…says here that one is the natural inheritant of the Counter-Weight throne, and the other is its Grand Vizier. Huh, I didn't think that anyone high-up would be on this one. Rincewind, did you think that anyone posh would be coming with us? Rincewind?"

But Rincewind had zoned out, remembering the last time he had visited the Counter-Weight Continent, remembering _who_ had been on the throne and remembering _who_ had been appointed Grand Vizier.

"_No_," he breathed, as he recounted experiences and suppressed memories. "Absolutely _not_ possible." On this matter, of course, he was proved to be 100% wrong.

When they reached the court-yard, they were faced with a tightening ring of soldiers, which were closing in on something which couldn't quite be seen at the moment.

"_They're Rowel's guard_!" hissed Byrony as she drew her sword, a notched and well-used blade. "_Stand back_!"

Rincewind did shuffle back a couple of token centimetres, but based on his suspicions, he really couldn't help but wonder what was at the centre of that quickly shrinking circle.

A moment later, his suspicions were confirmed.

There was a swish, and one of the guard's shoulders suddenly sprouted a knife hilt. Suddenly, a slim figure spun around and with surgical precision, used the length of its leg to dispatch with three other guards.

But there was no time to sympathise with these figures curled groaning on the ground, because the figure was already on the move again, and it was attacking the rest of the guard. It was a pale blur, stopping _here_ and _here_…

Rincewind shrank back as every other male in the vicinity leaned forward clutching his groinal area. He chanced a quick glance at Byrony who was watching the proceedings, her mouth a wide 'O' of astonishment. Rincewind had the feeling that she was in for quite a shock when she realised who it was that was dispensing with all this pain…

Rincewind rather suspected that Byrony thought she was unique, though this was not the case.

Well, no, it _was_ the case because she _was_ unique because there was no one else on the Disc like her. But she thought she was unique in that she was a young woman who could throw a dagger to kill at fifty feet.

Unfortunately, Rincewind had met the proof that Byrony was not unique in this sense, and he rather feared that he was going to meet it again quite soon.

Byrony thought she was unique because she fought and spat and swore. Rincewind disagreed, though he would never tell her. He had met plenty of women who fought and spat and swore.

Byrony was unique because…because she was, well…Byrony. Rincewind would tell her this, if only he had the words that would put it into an intelligible sentence as opposed to the meaningless babble he suspected he would produce if placed in the spotlight.

The guards were now dropping like flies, falling under the relentless assault of the blurred figure which rained blow upon unstoppable blow upon them…

As the last guard fell, the figure proved to be a young woman, wearing an attractive white lace dress with fetchingly puffed sleeves. The angelic figure was panting slightly, and still crouched. Despite this, she glowed in the lamplight, and her long blonde hair shimmered with her every movement. It was almost pure white. Combined with her tanned golden skin, the general effect was calculated to hit the male libido like a lead pipe.

Conina smiled.

Suddenly she made eye-contact with Rincewind, sprinted across the short distance which lay between them an enveloped him in a smothering hug.

"I thought you were _dead_!" she said loudly into his ear, slightly deafening him. "I haven't seen you since the _last_ time the disc was going to end!"

"Oh really?" said Rincewind somewhat sarcastically. "That'd be last Tuesday then?"

He struggled out of her embrace, just as another figure rushed up.

"Rincewind!" its bespectacled visage exclaimed. "Can you believe it?"

"No," said Rincewind truthfully. "I most definitely cannot."

"It must have been Fate that brought us back together," said Twoflower.  
"Yes, it's the sort of thing he likes to do," said Rincewind.

Twoflower nodded happily. He not only had a rose tinted view of the world, but a rose tinted touch, taste and apprehension. "I agreed to accompany her majesty, but I had no idea that you were involved-"

Conina quickly waved a hand. "Less of the majesty thing, please. It's not been formalised yet."

Twoflower frowned. "Well, your father was the emperor… and as far we know, he's no longer…er-well he's not fulfilling the position, currently."

"I'm aware," said Conina acidly. "But really, I thought we agreed that I was just doing this, and then I could get back to my salon!"

"Well, yes but-"

"But nothing! That was the deal!" She glared at Twoflower, and then turned to Rincewind, thereby switching the force of the glare onto him.

He flinched.

"_Well_," she said. "What now?"

It was clear that there was another story behind all this. Rincewind was aware that Conina was the daughter of the famous Hero, Cohen the Barbarian. This meant that she was plagued by hereditary, which granted her with sinews you could moor a boat with, reflexes like a snake on a hot tin, a terrible urge to steal things and this dreadful sensation every time she met someone that she met someone that she should be throwing a knife through their eyes. The fact that she wanted to be a hairdresser seemed irrelevant. Now, it looked like she was still trying to escape her father's legacy, and it was making her _very_ annoyed.

Rincewind began to take deep, (theoretically) calming breaths.

"Ah," said Twoflower uncertainly. "I'd also like to know what our plan is. I mean, we've been given a basic outline of course, but who else are we travelling with?"

Rincewind regained his composure, and took a deep breath.

"Right, I'm not the man you should be interrogate- Er. I mean, I'm not the man you should be _talking_ to. The man behind all this is Byrony Winslow, who is, in fact, a woman."

"So where is she?" said Conina, puzzled.

Rincewind turned towards Byrony, somewhat apprehensive of this initial meeting. He stopped suddenly, however, with his mouth hanging open.

Byrony was gone.

* * *

Byrony was not beautiful. However, she didn't have a problem with that, and felt that beauty could be dangerous. It could attract unwanted attention, like from big thugs with axes who thought that they had every right to pick you up and swing you over their shoulder. Byrony had heard about ravishing early in life, and decided she didn't want any. This was about the same time that she invested in a couple of interestingly placed throwing knives.

She had spent two years in Quirm's School for Young Ladies (before the _incident_ of which we no longer speak of), and had heard the phrase 'Beauty is a Burden' repeated regularly, and usually sighed, by fragile, pale girls, as they plucked a stray hair from their eyebrows. Byrony was interestingly pretty, and achieved this quite naturally, sometimes while covered in mud. But she wasn't beautiful.

She was too practical, nothing was fragile, and her skin was tanned from days of travelling under the sun. She was smattered with freckles, and she had calluses on her hands from holding swords. This had never bothered her, because as far as she was concerned, beauty was too much of a bother, and virtually impossible to maintain when running for your life, or fighting off a big hairy thing with seventeen legs and green teeth.

But _Conina_, now, there was something worth being bothered about.

Byrony had done her research on Conina.

Conina was even better then Byrony with a sword. Unarmed combat? She could disembowel a man with a hairgrip. Byrony admired all this in her, and wasn't even surprised when Vetinari had told her that Conina's father was none other than Genghiz Cohen. No, none of this really bothered Byrony.

What _did_ bother Byrony was that when Conina fought off a small army of forty men, she did it in an attractive white shift with flowers. Her skin was like polished bronze. When Conina fought, she barely broke a sweat, and not one hair was out of place when she did it. _Conina_ could maintain an air of the feminine mystique while kicking a man in the fork. Byrony, on the other hand, favoured leather, combed her hair irregularly and, in all honesty, when her hair was tied back and she was covered in mud, sometimes passed for a boy. An _attractive_ boy, though. When she tried to. But still.

Byrony was a practical woman who demanded more from life then a mirror, but she was still a woman. And right now, she was sulking

* * *

Rincewind stalked through the grounds of Winslow Manor, unaware that he was using up his stalking abilities while they were in their prime.

"Where are we going?" panted Twoflower, practically jogging to keep up.

"To find Byrony," growled Rincewind. "She organised this, so she's damn well going to be here to see it!"

"Did she?"

"Of course! Only she could do something as batty as this and have it actually fall through."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," said Rincewind airily. "You wouldn't believe some of the stuff this girl gets up to. She's bloody amazing!"

Conina gave Rincewind a funny look. "You think so, do you?"

"Absolutely. And brave! Hah, she could eat fear up and spit it out. Yes indeed!"

"But," said Conina, keeping pace easily. "Why did she run away in the first place?"

"She didn't run away," scoffed Rincewind. "She only runs away from things she knows she can't, you know, fight and defeat."

"Really," said Conina thoughtfully, grabbing Rincewind's collar so that he jerked to a stop. "And she saw me hug you, didn't she?"

"_Glerk_!" said Rincewind.

"What's going on?" demanded Two-Flower.

"Rincewind and Byrony are in love," proclaimed Conina, who was rather good at this sort of thing.

"Really?" said Twoflower. "I mean… _really_?" After all, he knew Rincewind quite well.

"No!" said Rincewind from ground level, in a strangled sort of voice. (Well, in all fairness, he had been half strangled.) "No, that's not it at all!"

Two-Flower patted him on the shoulder. "I know what it's like."

"You do?"

"Of course! But don't worry, I always say that unrequited love is _character building_!"

"Character buil- No! I mean, I don't love her either, it's just a mutual friendship, we-"

"Sure," said Conina dismissively. "You're 'just friends'. Listen, you need to get a grip on-"

She became aware that Rincewind wasn't paying attention to her

"Where's that light coming from?" Instead he was staring at a huge oak-tree, which was lit at the base by a dozen candles which high-lighted the thick trunk and the countless leaves and branches which spanned the sky. High at the top of the tree was a single, solitary and flickering light, hidden amongst the foliage.

"That's her," said Rincewind firmly.

"It surely isn't," said Twoflower.

"It _is_."

"How do you know?" asked Conina curiously.

Rincewind hesitated. How did he know? Well, Byrony liked to climb high things. And she liked natural things, like trees. And she while she was after doing something as insensible as running off, Rincewind felt that she wasn't quite as insensible as to hide herself without providing him with no means to find her.

"That's her," he said firmly.

* * *

Byrony pressed her forehead against her knees, and felt the tree shake as some unknown presence made its way up, causing the small candle to flicker briefly and then go out in a small whisp of silver smoke.

She wasn't in the mood to deal with _anything_.

Rincewind looked up into the shadows.

He sensed her black mood, pouring out from amongst the leaves like a thick and terrifying smoke. Oh ye gods…

"I knew I'd find you," he said eventually. "One thing I've ever been sure of."

The darkness was silent.

"I know you only run from things you think you can't beat," continued Rincewind. "Is it the Orb? Do you think you can't find it?"

The darkness was more silent. Rincewind thought he heard movements.

"I don't want to have to climb up there and get you," he said. Truth rang in every word. Rincewind wasn't afraid of heights, but it's the depths that kill you.

"The thing is…the actual _thing_ is…I will, though."

Silence.

"Bugger this," muttered Rincewind. He reached up and pulled himself up and began to climb the further couple of meters which pushed him out of the realm of safety and into the realm of falling twenty foot and snapping his neck.

When he had pulled himself up onto the branch opposite a shadowy, hunched figure he stopped climbing. At this point, he found himself at quite a loss.

Byrony had always been a ball of sparkling charisma, always the one with the upper hand. Rincewind was completely unable to deal with a situation where this was not the case. Currently, she was curled up at the trunk-end of a thick branch, forehead firmly pressed against knees.

"Listen," said Rincewind kindly. "I know you're nervous, but Conina will be able to deal with anything. She'll help us get the Orb."

Byrony lifted her head and stared at him.

Then, with the finesse and grace that he had always associated with her, she pulled back and elegant arm and punched him squarely on the nose.

* * *

After being punched in the face by the woman he loved (all denial mechanisms had shut down in shock), Rincewind reached the ground by the simple means of falling uncontrollably from branch to branch.

He looked up at a shocked Conina and Twoflower, his hands clutched to the front of his face.

"What did you say?" asked Conina urgently.

"She _bunched_ be! She bunched by _dose_!"

Conina raised an eyebrow as Byrony agilely dropped from branch to branch, reaching the ground.

"I did not," she insisted, despite the horrendously guilty look on her face.

"Um," said Twoflower reproachfully. "He _is_ bleeding, miss."

"It was an _accident._"

"I'b _bleeding_? I nebber just start bleeding for do reason! Nebber ebber!"

"A well aimed accident," she admitted. "Oh all right, I punched him. Happy?"

"By _dose_ is _broken_!"

"Oh, it is _not_," protested Byrony.

"What did I tell you?" said Twoflower happily. "Character building!"

"All by charigder is dripping out by dose!"

Sighing, Conina whipped out a lightly fragranced handkerchief and held it to Rincewind's now freely flowing nose. Glaring angrily, Byrony whipped it away. "_I'll_ do that, thank you!" she snapped, and replaced it against his nose with perhaps slightly more force then was necessary.

"_Ow_!"

* * *

Introductions were, needless to say, a little awkward.

The funny thing was, thought Rincewind as he steered his horse through the trees of the forest, Byrony had taken an instant liking to Twoflower, who had been delighted when he discovered that Rincewind had told her all about him.

But for no reason whatsoever, she seemed to make instant dread-enemies-for-life with Conina. Her face had been quite red as she had shook Conina's hand, and her mouth could have been used as a ruler.

Unfair as this was, it wasn't quite as unfair as the fact that Rincewind seemed to be in her black books as well. I mean, all right, hate-at-first-sight, he got that, that was all very well and understandable, but two hours ago he and Byrony had been conversing like perfectly ordinary people!

She hadn't spoken to him since she had punched him. Rincewind prodded the tip of his tender nose gingerly.

What was all this about!?

Up ahead, Byrony was privately fuming. He horse, sensing her anger, was slightly jittery and kept jerking on the harness and making it jingle. All four of the travellers rode fine strong horses, and each horse was laden with provisions for the journey ahead. Not _too_ laden, however. Rincewind had insisted that the horses would still be able to turn a fine speed should the occasion arise. Now all four of them trotted deeper and deeper into the forest. At least, Rincewind, Byrony and Conina trotted. Twoflower was about as suited to equine activities as a sack of potatoes, and indeed, tended to land on the ground like one every couple of meters.

Byrony continued to rage internally. The most annoying thing about her pent up anger was that she was pretty sure she wasn't entitled to it.

Byrony was…jealous.

There. She said it.

The thing was, she wasn't actually sure what she was jealous _of_.

Oh, all right, you could argue that she was jealous of Conina's ability to disembowel while tossing her sun-bleached hair attractively, but that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all…

Byrony had pushed the earlier encounter with Rincewind to the back of her mind. All right, she reasoned, we're just friends then. That's fine. No problems there. Hah, upset? Me? _Nooo_, no this is just…an allergy. Yes, that's it. Allergy! That explains the watery eyes too. (Had she spoken to Rincewind about this, he might have compared it with his earlier experience of motion-sickness.)

She was working an accepting it, and a part of this progression involved trying to convince herself that while they were just friends, they were in fact '_just'_ friends, and therefore not the same thing as just friends at all.

Hah, I mean, how many other women was Rincewind '_just'_ friends with? None, I bet! So she was special. Practically unique!

Byrony had always known that if it came to a choice between her and wizardry, she wouldn't even make Rincewind choose. She didn't even think he _could_ choose. But…_weeeeeell_…I mean…when you get _right down _toit_…_

Wizards don't have relations with women because it drains their magic, yes?

And Rincewind…doesn't really _do_ magic, right?

Well…it's true, isn't it?

_But_ she had accepted that he had made this decision, and had almost forgiven him. She could be just friends. She could do that. No problem. Just friends. Right.

Then they had rounded that corner…and Byrony had seen that he was _just_ friends with another woman as well.

The fact that she was stunningly beautiful didn't really help.

* * *

Conina cantered up to the scowling young woman on the horse, grinning the sort of grin that lets people know that their about to be assaulted with goodwill.

"I hear," she said confidentially. "That you're a pretty good hand in a fight."

"No." said Byrony, staring straight ahead.

"No?"

"I'm a pretty good _anything_ in a fight."

Conina glanced over at the young woman. Her wavy, curly brown hair was tied back of her face, and her jaw was set with a type of grim determination. She wasn't talking, and her silence left a gaping hole in the conversation, which Conina foolishly tried to fill.

"Oh? Uh…So, have you known Rincewind long?"

"Long enough."

"We're old friends."

"So I hear." You could have snapped icicles off her voice, but for some reason, Conina smiled smugly. It was nice to be right.

"Has he told you anything about me?"

The woman faltered, the cold in her green eyes fading a little. "Ye-es…" The cold came back. "And then again, no."

Conina went silent for a little while. What people don't realise is that hairdressing is a fine art. There's the cutting-the-hair part of it, sure, but that's just the tip of the ice-berg. Hairdressing is a complicated and secret art of psychology, all about seeing into the mind of the individual. Is it any wonder that people spill all their deepest darkest secrets to their hairdresser? That they lay their soul bare to someone who merely trims dead-ends? Hairdressers have a deep insight into the psyche of the individual. That's why it lets them do the feathery-scissors thing.

"I'm friends with Rincewind," she said finally.

Byrony looked at her suspiciously. "I know. You said."

"I'm friends with Rincewind," continued Conina. "Whereas _you…_" she looked pointedly at Byrony. "_You_ are _just_ friends with Rincewind. Am I right?"

Byrony stared at her.

"It's a lot different," said Conina cheerfully. "A _lot_ different."

Byrony continued to stare.

"And you know," said Conina, like a player laying down a trump card. "He never even came to my wedding!"

* * *

Now Rincewind was the one fuming.

Look at them, he thought angrily to himself. Cackling away up there! Now they're best friends, are they?

He was referring to Byrony and Conina, who had spent the last hour riding side-by-side and laughing the whole way. Every so often, they would glance back at him and burst into peals of renewed laughter. This worried Rincewind. He felt certain he had heard Byrony snort '_Seraglio_?' at least once.

What he didn't understand was that he was still in the dog-house, while Conina had instantly wrangled her way back into Byrony's good-graces.

No, wait, not _back_ into her good-graces, because she had never even _been_ in her good-graces before!

And he was most definitely still in the dog-house. The one time he'd tried to ride up beside her, Byrony had shot him a poisonous look and urged her horse into a quick trot until she was further up, back beside Conina.

Rincewind looked at her back sadly. He still had absolutely no idea what was wrong with her.

Twoflower somehow managed to steer his horse up beside Rincewind.

"Ah, the trials of love!" he beamed happily.

"No," said Rincewind firmly. "It's not."

"Not the trials of love?"

"No."

"So…that wasn't a look of yearning I just saw? Rincewind? I didn't just see you cast a look of utter longing upon the beautiful lady whom you have pledged eternal-"

"_No_."

"Just checking," said Twoflower meekly. They rode in silence for a while. Now the two women were talking furtively, leaning across the gap between their horses to avoid being overheard.

For some reason, this worried Rincewind more then the laughing.

"Are you sure you're not having a lover's tiff?" enquired Twoflower.

"What?" snapped Rincewind, tearing his eyes away from the pair. "Don't be redicul- Wait, what about a lover's tiff?"

"Well, it's obvious the young lady is tiffing. You, on the other hand, don't seem to have caught on yet."

"Tiffing? Who's- what are you talking about?" Rincewind looked back up to the ladies.

They were sniggering.

"Right," he said firmly. "That's it. This is absolutely ridiculous." He urged his horse up and pushed his way in between Byrony and Conina.

Byrony's face snapped closed like a book.

"Can we help you?" she enquired. Rincewind fancied he heard the tinkle of ice somewhere.

"Er- I was just going to say- er. Let's not be daft buggers and…um…"

He trailed off. Byrony was staring at him, inquisitively, patiently and above all, coldly.

Ye gods, thought Rincewind, attempting to think through all the frozen brain-cells that his head suddenly seemed to contain. I actually can't talk to this woman. This is as bad as when I we first met and I didn't really know her…

_Nope,_ said his libido cheerfully. _It's worse. Because then, at least she was _nice_. She never actually promised bodily harm with a mere glance. Which, I think, is what she's trying to convey here._

"I…um…" Rincewind faltered. "I'll just go back here…"

He pulled on the reigns, and brought his horse back. Byrony didn't even watch him go, she just turned away and looked firmly ahead.

Rincewind was completely unnerved. A talk with the Patrician was a breeze compared to that, because at least then you knew what was coming. The Patrician didn't spend an afternoon laughing and making fun of absurd art with you, and then turn around and order you're immediate disposal via the scorpion pit.

_Yeah, _said his libido. _Not to mention the fact that you're not in love with the Patrician._

Shut up!

_Bet you wished you stayed in her room now, huh? You should've gotten while the getting was good pal._

You're not me, thought Rincewind, horrified. You _can't_ be me. I wouldn't think thoughts like that! They'd burn a hole through my skull!

_Well,_ said his libido thoughtfully. _I don't exactly think with the _brain_, if you know what I mean._

Thankfully, at this point, Byrony slowed her horse to a halt and announced that they were going to stop for the evening.

"I've been riding so long, the saddle is attempting to become and intimate part of my body," she grumbled. They had been travelling for miles into the dark forest. Rincewind was actually becoming a little concerned. He certainly didn't know the way back, and he hadn't seen Byrony consult a map even once.

"Oh, good," said Twoflower. "I think I've ridden enough for one day." Then he attempted to slide off his horse and simply continued to slide right onto the ground.

"Well," said Conina, dismounting gracefully and walking around. "I suppose it is sheltered." They were in a very small grove amongst the tightly packed fir trees. It was getting dark, and Rincewind settled down under a tree.

"Any caves around here?" he innocently enquired.

"Rincewind, for the last time," said Byrony exasperatedly. "_There are no bears in this forest!"_

Then she almost began to laugh, but suddenly remembered herself, and bent low over a satchel. She was sick of being mean to Rincewind. She didn't really want to be, not _really_ and it didn't help anyway. And it made her feel like an utter bitch.

Conina and Twoflower shared a knowing glance.

"Twoflower," said Conina loudly. "Why don't you help you get your bag off the horse?"

"But I don't need my bag," said Twoflower, bewildered.

"Really? Are you sure? Because I thought you said you _wanted _to_ go _and getit," said Conina in a firm voice.

"No," said Twoflower. "I didn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

Byrony and Rincewind watched this exchange like two spectators in a tennis match. Byrony was grinning, but Rincewind just looked rather bemused.

"Well," said Conina finally. "Well, er, why don't we use Twoflower's provisions this evening? If that's okay?"

"Fine," said Twoflower sulkily. "You only had to _say_."

"Good. And I'll help you get them."

"Don't go too far," said Byrony urgently. "It's _very_ easy to get lost in here!"

"We won't!" called Conina has she has led, half dragged a protesting Twoflower away.

So it came to pass that Rincewind and Byrony were left alone, sitting together on a very uncomfortable rock. They both avoided each other's gazes.

"Well," said Byrony. Rincewind glanced nervously at her. She was twirling a piece of her hair around a finger so tightly that it was turning purple. "I would just like to say that I'm very-"

Rincewind let out a sigh of relief.

"- angry with you."

The sigh of relief got caught in his windpipe and turned into a choking cough as the apology he was expecting turned into the exact opposite.

"What?!" he spluttered. "_What_?!"

"Yes," said Byrony calmly. "You didn't seem to be getting it, you see. So I thought I had better spell it out."

"_Spell it out_? Spell _what_ out?"

"That I'm _angry_ with you!" Byrony leapt to her feet. The haze of calm she had been affecting vanished. "I'm _pissed_ _off_! Not too bright are you?!"

"_About what_?!" shouted Rincewind.

Byrony suddenly pointed an accusing finger towards the area where Conina and Twoflower had wisely decided to make themselves scarce.

"About _her_!"

Rincewind opened his mouth, and completely failed to come up with a response.

All he managed was a weak: "…what?"

Byrony slumped back on the rock, wincing a little, as it wasn't really a slumping kind of rock. Rincewind sat down beside her.

"I thought…" she began quietly.

"I thought _I_ was the only one you were _just_ friends with!" she blurted suddenly. "And then _she_ comes, and _she's_ travelled the Disc with you, oh _yes_, and you're _just_ friends with her too, aren't you? I _know_ she says you're _friends_ but I bet at some point you definitely considered her to be _just_ your friend, didn't you? _Didn't_ you?"

Rincewind stared at Byrony, on the basis that sooner or later he'd be given a clue. She seemed to be expecting an answer.

"Um," he said. "Yes?"

This was, apparently, the wrong one.

"I_ knew _it.," Byrony exploded. A small voice in the back of her head was jumping up and down frantically, trying to tell her she was being unreasonable and just a tad psychotic, but she was having none of it. "I _knew_ you didn't tell me about her for a reason!"

Suddenly, Rincewind realised that he had no idea why he was being shouted at. This struck him as unfair. If he was going to be shouted at, he'd rather have earned it.

"Oh?" he said suddenly. "Oh _really_? Well, if we're going to be on the subject of things not told, how about we talk about you not telling me about a certain _engagement_!"

Byrony suddenly stopped. "That's different," she said finally.

"_Destined to be together_," snapped Rincewind. "That's what I had to listen to. How you and Rowel were _meant_ to be together form the day you were born!"

"You're being ridiculous!"

"_I'm_ being ridiculous? _I'm_ being ridiculous? I had to listen to how you could marry this lord, who's oh-so-better then every on else, and especially me!"

"_Well it's not like I can marry you!"_

Silence filled the glade, punctuated only by the sound of startled birds taking flight.

They both stared resolutely at their feet, aware that they may have said some things that people who were just friends wouldn't really say.

Byrony sighed. "People who are just friends don't get angry about their friends possible engagements."

"Yes, well," rallied Rincewind. "Other people who are just friends don't…er…Actually, what is it that you're angry with me about?"

Rincewind was aware that Byrony was giving him one of those long, slow looks.

"You don't know?"

"As far as I'm aware, you became insensibly enraged because I never told you about Conina, but I _did_! Remember, when we visited upper Ankh? In that café with the questionable jam? I said about the sorcerer and going to Klatch? _Remember_?"

"Yes, yes," said Byrony irritably. "You told me that you travelled with a woman named Conina, and about her father being Cohen the Barbarian and her hereditary and all that. You _neglected_ to tell me that she was so…"

She waved her hands vaguely in the air, trying to convey that Conina was a walking Goddess of the Sun.

"What?" said Rincewind. "Oh, well, I suppose…" Reality dawned. "_Oh_. Well, er…maybe but not as much as you are," he said gallantly.

"Bullshit," said Byrony promptly. "Rincewind, she's beautiful. And she can fight. I didn't think you could do both. Well, certainly not at the same time."

Rincewind wasn't sure how he should respond. In his head he said _You're beautiful. And you can fight. And you're kind and funny and crazy and you're all at the same time. You're _not_ Conina, but that's even better because you _are_ Byrony._

But all this was a little beyond his mouth to process, because it was hotly aware that once those words had been said, there would be a time after the words, and that would be a very embarrassing time indeed.

Ninety per cent of true love is acute, ear-burning embarrassment.

Still, he made the attempt. "I…" Byrony looked at him. "You…Listen, you aren't…"

"I forgive you," said Byrony suddenly.

"What? I didn't do anything!"

"Yes you did. Uh, I think… Anyway, it doesn't matter because I've forgiven you. All right?"

But something had clicked for Rincewind. "You run away from things you can't beat. Byrony, what did you think you would have to fight?"

"It doesn't matter," Byrony huffed. "Come on, lets find the other two and-"

Rincewind reached over and brushed her cheek, pushing a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "This 'just friends' thing really isn't working, is it?" he said gloomily.

Then Byrony watched in amusement as panic began to rise in Rincewind's eyes as he replayed what he had just done.

"Er…"

"Now, is _that_ something friends do?" said Byrony, in a mock-solemn tone.

Rincewind waved a frantic finger. "Involuntary action!" he said desperately. "Can't think what came over me! Won't happen again!"

"That's what you said last time. Oh come on Rincewind, it's not like you _kissed_-"

"No more!" said Rincewind sternly. "Byrony, I mean it, that's it. That was a- a- a final _goodbye_ to a certain messy and complex way of interaction that we are _never_ going to pursue again, clear?"

"Crystal," said Byrony sadly. He meant it this time. Well, he'd meant it the first time too, but now it really actually felt like something was over.

"Right. Well then. So…it's over."

Byrony leaned down and clutched her leg. "You make it sound," she said mildly, as she kneaded her ankle, "like something ever started."

Rincewind didn't know how to respond to this, and settled for "How's the ankle?"

"Fine, fine," she said vaguely.

They sat in silence for a while.

"Well," said Byrony finally. "That's it then."

"I suppose so…"

"Right." Byrony got up and walked away, presumably to go and catch Conina and Twoflower very ostentatiously not listening to the argument. Rincewind, on the other hand, stayed where he was.

_Just friends_? he thought despondently. _I don't know _what_ the hell we are_. He watched her go and, helpless to stop himself, he worried about her limp.

* * *

Some distance away, Conina and Twoflower stood by the horses. It was a precisely estimated distance, one which conveyed that they had attempted to move away and respect other people's privacy, yet not so far away that they couldn't hear all the good shouty bits.

"They've stopped shouting," said Conina, annoyed.

"And that's a _good_ thing," hinted Twoflower.

"Well, yes, but I can't hear them when they talk down low like that."

"Oh dear. Do you think they're going to be okay? She seems _very_ nice…"

"Yes, I wonder what she's doing with Rincewind."

"Your _highness_!" said Twoflower, shocked. "Rincewind is an amazing man! Saved my life a million times-"

"Yes? And how many times did he do it by accident? Nine hundred and ninety nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine?"

"Er…yes…well…"

"And I am _not_ your highness and I plan on _never_ being it. Anyway, don't worry about those two. Of all the time spent in the best relationships fifty percent of it is made up of arguments."

"Really? What's the other fifty percent made up of?"

Conina faltered, glancing incredulously over at the small bespectacled man. "Oh, you know…" she said weakly. "Stuff…"

"Ah. Do you and Nijel ever fight at all?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We're in love."

"Sorry," said Twoflower humbly.

"We never _stop_ fighting."

Suddenly, there was a rustling from the bushes in front of them. Conina crouched down, ready to pounce. While they were loading up the horses, Rincewind had blathered on about being attacked by Enraged Mother Bears, apparently feeling that those three components were mutually exclusive to one another. Though the man was quite mad, you could never be too careful…

A scruffy figure fell out onto the path in front of them. Byrony grinned up at them from the ground. "A lot of thorns in those bushes," she said conversationally, as they pulled her to her feet. "A _lot_ of thorns."

"You could have used the path," Conina pointed out, while tugging a twig from her brown wavy hair.

"This was quicker," said Byrony happily. "What was I going to-? Oh yes, you can come back now and pretend you didn't hear anything and act all surprised when we tell you we're not fighting any more, if you like. Well," she amended. "I'm not fighting any more. Rincewind never really was."

"Oh good," said Twoflower, grabbing his bag. "I have my food here. Let's go back and have some dinner, shall we?"

Conina, who was about to pretend that they truly hadn't heard anything, gave in. "Yes," she said, defeated. "Let's."

* * *

Back at Winslow Manor, the kitchen were finally being put to their paces, faced with appetites that seemed to increase the more they were pandered to.

The wizard's were in their element.

Currently, they were enjoying the last of the evening sun on the roof of the manor, on a handy sun-deck. Most of the faculty were dozing in sun-chairs and the Bursar was propped up in a sun-catching corner. The Librarian was in his element somewhere in the manor, having just discovered the Disc's eighth biggest library.

The only break in the calm was Ridcully's enthusiasm.

"Winged yer, yer bastard!" he yelled happily, as yet another duck fell from the sky. Winslow Manor was a magnificent hunting ground, and Ridcully felt the animals had been left completely to their own devices. It was up to him, he thought, to cull their numbers. A large amount of games-men were dashing about below with large sacks to catch the fowl as it fell from the sky.

Ridcully fired his crossbow again.

"Can't he do that somewhere else?" said the Senior Wrangler irritably, lifting the brim of his hat from over his eyes. "He's _destroying_ the ambiance."

"Ambiance? Hey," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, as if suddenly remembering something. "No one ever gave us those bottles of adulation!"

They ignored him, and settled back in their seats. "I've got to hand it to her," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "That Winslow girl really knows how to throw a party."

"I quite agree," said the Dean, who was surrounded by a choice platter that was being filled so fast, it was a race between him and the serving staff. "She's the best hostess _I've_ ever come across."

"Ah," said the Senior Wrangler. "Has anyone actually _seen_ her today?"

"Didn't she go for a stroll with that Duchess? The one with the pointy face?"

"Thought she was at the garden party at noon?"

"There was a large croquet game on. I think she was at that, too."

"_I_ didn't see her," said the Chair of Indefinite studies.

"Well," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes slowly. "You were probably… _concentrating_ on the game."

"Oh yes, that was probably it. It was a great game, great game," said the Chair happily. The others moved a little away from him, possibly remembering the time that he had suggested croquet as a form of procreation.

You see, Vetinari and Byrony had planned this well. They hadn't just expected Byrony to disappear from her own party without any fuss, and instead were working on the extreme rules of social etiquette to work in their favour. Several allies were employed in telling other people that they had seen Lady Winslow at an event and then telling an amusing story about something witty her Ladyship had said. This worked beautifully because of the social-climbing nature of their audience, who would then go and talk to _their_ friends and tell them about how they happened to be in that intimate conversation with her ladyship, and how she made this _witty_ comment. Then those friends would go and tell _their_ friends…

And so on. This meant that by the end of the day everyone was certain that Lady Winslow had been gliding through the social circles like a gold encrusted butterfly. Of course, it would never work in a smaller venue, but the sheer magnitude of Winslow Manor meant that Byrony could always be somewhere _else_.

"Anyway," said the Dean eventually. "She throws a damn fine party."

There was a small worried noise from the vicinity of the wall, where Ponder Stibbons was leaning over and peering at his thaumometer.

"Give it a rest, lad," said Ridcully, coming over and slapping him heartily on the back and almost causing him to go toppling over the side of the building. "We're on holidays!"

"Yes sir," said Ponder automatically. "Er- Just noticing the high levels of background magic, sir."

"Well, what did you expect? Byrony grew up here! I'm surprised the grass is still green with the amount of magic she probably blasted into the place. You hear funny stories about that forest, I know that."

"Is it just me," said the Senior Wrangler suddenly. "Or are we short someone?"

There was a brief moment as everyone glanced around.

"Well," said the Lecturer in recent Runes happily. "_I'm_ here."

"I don't think so," said the Dean, spreading cream on a scone. "I'm sure we would have noticed if it was someone important."

"Dean, with the way your attention is occupied," said Ridcully. "I doubt you would notice if the four horsemen of the Apocralypse landed on the roof and asked for directions."

"Unless they stole a bun," said the Chair of Indefinite studies sulkily, who had tried that very unsuccessful course of action earlier.

"You can jolly well order your own food," said the Dean primly. "I took the precaution of informing the staff I would require a snack at this time."

"_Warning_ the staff more like."

Then Ponder snapped his fingers. "Rincewind! We're missing Rincewind!"

"Who?" enquired the Senior Wrangler.

"You know, our Professor of Egregarious Studies." There wasn't a glimmer of comprehension amongst the group.

"We sent him to the Counter-Weight Continent?" volunteered Ponder. "Then we accidently sent him to Fourecks? Then he came back with us?"

Nothing.

"The nervy fellow," explained Ridcully. "The bloke who jumps at loud noises."

"Oh _him_," said the Senior Wrangler. "Yes, he _is_ twitchy, isn't he?"

"Valuable asset to the University," said Ridcully grandly. "Even if he is a bit of a whiner," he added.

"Yes," said the Senior Wrangler uncertainly. "Well, he's not here. So what?"

"Well," said Ponder. "Where is he?"

Ridcully looked thoughtfully out at the huge, deep, dark forest that surrounded the Manor. The sun was setting, and night was closing in. "I suppose he wouldn't have done anything stupid, would he?"

"Archchancellor! Rincewind is a wizard and a member of this faculty!" exclaimed the Dean.

"Thank you Dean," sighed Ridcully. "For that very concise and definite answer."

* * *

Back in the forest, the four travellers gathered under a tree to share out Twoflower's previously packed provisions. It was getting late, and none of them had eaten very much in the day so stomachs were making loud gurgling and growling noises, which are the body's way of telling the brain that really, it didn't know the _half_ of it.

Conina, Rincewind and Byrony all leaned in closer as Twoflower opened his satchel and took out a package containing…

They looked down. Then they slowly looked back up at Twoflower.

"Jam sandwiches?" said Conina incredulously.

"What?" said Twoflower defensively. "I like jam sandwiches!"

"I like jam sandwiches too," said Byrony. "But right about now, jam sandwiches really don't like me. Haven't you got any meat in there?"

"Well, no I thought that this-"

Then, in a turn of events that no one expected (especially Rincewind who was sitting right beside it and got quit a shock), the branch of the tree reached down and swiped one of the sandwiches from Twoflower's outstretched hand.

"Hey!

Conina slept to her feet, raising her sword and struck-

Suddenly a blur of steel came through the air faster then was humanly possible, and a second sword clashed with Conina's, juddering it to a sudden stop.

"_Wait_," said Byrony calmly, her hands wrapped around its hilt. Conina panted a little. She hadn't even seen her draw her sword.

"Oh ye gods," said Rincewind very, very quietly. Only the whites of his eyes could be seen.

Byrony slowly lowered her sword and jerked her head in the direction of the tree, which completely failed to lash out and kill them all. Instead, it was making happy little _mmmnmmmnmmn_ noises.

"Probably," Byrony began. "I should have mentioned this."

"Probably," agreed Rincewind.

"What's going on!?" demanded Conina.

"They're actually very intelligent, you know," said Byrony in self defence.

"How does it eat it?" said a bewildered Twoflower still staring at the tree. It gave a cheery little burp. "It doesn't have a mouth!"

"Er-" Byrony paused. "You know er- You know when magic builds up?"

"Yes?"

"Right, good. Well, there was a build up of magic in this forest- Rincewind, let the tree have the sandwiches!"

Rincewind looked up guiltily from where it had been wrestling with a branch over the package. The tree took its chance and snaffled it. It was all right though, he'd hidden a few in the pocket of his robe.

"Byrony…?" said Conina in a warning voice. Though she was now sitting down, it was the type of voice that indicated that if she _was_ standing up, she'd be tapping her foot.

"Right," said Byrony guiltily. "Yes. Um. A build up of magic. And it sort of…soaked into the trees, kind of thing, and now it's an intrinsic part of their gene structure….Look, I'm sure Rincewind could explain it a lot better." She glanced at Rincewind's blank, jam-smeared expression. "Or maybe not," she amended. "But they can actually manipulate the magic when they want to. I don't really know how it works…"

"The _trees_ can do _magic_?" said Twoflower, with a sort of horrified fascination.

"Well, not really. I mean, it's more like they _are_ magic-"

"That's all fine," said Conina hotly. "What I want to know is what caused all this. You get nasty things coming from old magic. _Nasty_ things. Come on, tell me what caused the build up."

Byrony took a deep breath. "Me."

"What?" said Conina.

"I caused it. I caused the build up in magic of the forest."

Conina looked at her. "No you didn't," she said eventually.

Rincewind and Byrony exchanged glances. This was the first time someone had reacted like that. "Er-" said Byrony uncertainly. "Yes I did?"

"Did you really?" said Twoflower, fascinated.

"Well… yes. Not on _purpose_."

"How?" demanded Conina. "How did you do it."

Byrony crossed her arms. "Shan't tell," she said sulkily. "If you won't believe me the first time-"

"That's so childish!" said Conina, throwing her hands up. Byrony stuck her tongue out at her.

"She's an enchantress," explained Rincewind. "She gives of flares. Though not any more, now that she's got her modulator. It was made for her. Made by that stupid poncy _Stibbons_-"

"Calm down," said Byrony.

"Sorry."

"An enchantress?" said Conina. "I thought there were none left."

"Yes, well," said Byrony sourly. "Now you know."

"And I thought the very last one went insane from the flares she gave off."

They all turned and stared at Byrony. "What?" she said. "_What_?"

"It could've happened already," said Rincewind doubtfully. "We wouldn't notice the difference."

"Shut up."

After that, they all voted to move over to a clearing that they had passed further back. They wouldn't have the coverage of the trees, but Conina said that they gave her the creeps.

Also, they kept stealing Rincewind's hat, and there was no end to his complaining.

As they moved their things, Byrony marvelled at how easy it had been, telling them she was an enchantress. She had kept it to herself because people tend to get a bit nervy around people who can pump out thousands of thaums of raw magic, but the two had just accepted it and dismissed it. Well, Twoflower had demanded an iconograph, but other then that, it was promptly forgotten about. It was probably the fact that they had met so many other strange people, thought Byrony. And all those people probably wanted to kill them. Perhaps it was refreshing to meet someone who might just do it accidently instead. Of course, _now_ she wouldn't, now that she had her modulator.

She clutched the tiny gold cube hanging from the chain around her neck, and said a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods. She was really looking forward to settling down for a little while. Not for too long, but for a little while.

She would move on again because she it was in her blood, but when she did it would be by _choice_.

They set up camp again, and Conina took out some of her supplies. "I can cook these up into a stew-"

"Oooh! Oooh!" said Byrony, hopping up and down on each foot. "Can I do it!?"

"Well, sure," said Conina uncertainly. "If you really want to."

"Now, I ask myself," said Rincewind. "Is this _wise_?"

"It's getting cold," said Twoflower. "Should we light a fire?"

"I want to do that too!" said Byrony brightly. Rincewind looked at her suspiciously. From what he had heard, Byrony mostly travelled the Disc alone, unless she was flanked by her two murderous body-guards, William and Clancy. It occurred to him that her way of doing things might be a tad unorthodox...

"So," said Byrony cheerfully. "What is it that I'm cooking again?"

* * *

The thin man smiled a sharp little smile, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"So, what is it that you're cooking again?"

Winslow Manor's cavern of a kitchen had finally fallen silent. Not a sound could be heard as the staff stared stonily at the man. The Chef was vibrating with anger.

"As if," he choked out. "That was any of your business!"

"Just trying to make conversation," the man said mildy. Out of a pocket that was almost invisible against the black of his suit, he pulled out a small note-book. Out of another, a small stub of a pencil. He licked the nib and pressed it against the page.

"How often does her Ladyship come to the kitchens?"

"What does that have to do with-"

"Master Rowel wishes his renovations to be…a _surprise_."

The staff looked at each other. What was the right answer?

"While her Ladyship is free to roam any part of this manor, she does not deign to visit the kitchen," said the Chef stiffly.

"Of course," murmured the man. "It wouldn't be…fitting."

"But she could if she wanted," said a souse-chef boldly, her flame red hair poking out of her cap.

"Yeah," said a young man holding a large pot. "After all, it's _Winslow_ Manor, isn't it?"

"Well," said the thin man, in what he probably thought was a jovial manner. "I'm sure that would annoy you, hmm? Someone coming down here and poking around where they're not wanted."

"Yes, that _would_ be annoying," said another young man looking at him pointedly.

"But _she_ would be wanted," said the pastry-chef, folding her plump arms tightly. "While _others_ that I may mention are _not_."

The thin man's smile vanished. "I _see_. Well, if you don't mind, I'll continue with my measurements."

Someone snorted, and the man jerked around sharply, as if hoping to catch the culprit.

Silence.

Everyone knew why he was really here. Rowel had figured out that there were secret passages that ran the lengths of Winslow Manor, and had hired a group of solemn, pale men to find an entrance so the secret corridors could be located and sealed. It was to be a 'gift' to his _dear_ cousin. After all, large gaps in the walls made for uncomfortable draughts, did they not?

All the men he hired looked eerily the same. They were all tall, they were all thin….and they all despaired of the staff's unwillingness to spill the beans on their employer.

"Fine," hissed the thin man. "I'll just go search _the_ _pantry_, shall I?"

For some reason, this had quite the opposite effect upon the staff that he had anticipated. They seemed to slump in a relieved sort of way, and carried on with their business, treating him as a problem solved.

"Certainly!" said the Chef cheerfully, wrapping a strong yet pudgy arm around the man's shoulders. "The pantry, you say? Funny, so many people seem to be interested in our pantry!"

"Yes, well…er-"

"Can't say I blame them," continued the Chef loudly. "The games-men have it very well stocked. One would think they were up to something! Hah!"

On this final 'Hah!' he pushed the thin man into the pantry, and closed the door.

"Enjoy your measurements!" he called cheerfully, his back pressed firmly against the wood.

"I never put you as a cruel man, Chef," said the young man with the large pot admirably.

"You just get back to the mushroom sauté," warned the Chef. "Come on, what's more important? Life, or food?"

There was an uncertain pause.

"Well, come on," said the Chef impatiently. "You should know this one!"

"Er-" said the sauté-chef. "Food?"

"_Exactly_," said the Chef irritably. "_I_ don't know. It wasn't as if it was a trick question or anything…Well, get on with you! Get back to work!"

And they did.

Inside the darkness, the thin man extracted a box of matches with shaking fingers. He scratched a single match into flame, and began to feel along the wall for…

He had been well trained, and he knew what he was looking for. Ah! Here was the crack in the wall! If he could find the hinge, then lever would not be too far behi-

Suddenly, a large pile of rags in the corner seemed to climb to its feet.

"Thass Miss Byrony's door, tha' is," said the pile reproachfully. "I ain't supposed to let anyone into it!"

"What," said the thin man disgustedly, "Are _you_?"

The pile of rags drew itself up, tall and proud. "Moi name's Hinkle!" It said happily. "Oi can even _write_ it! You wanna see?"

"No!" snapped the man.

"Oh good," said Hinkle. "Tha' is, I could if'n I _wanted_ to, but I ain't in a frame o' _moind_, y'see?"

"Which frame of mind?" asked the bewildered visitor.

"Any frame o' moind," said Hinkle cheerfully. "Sanity is pretty much optional far as _oi_ sees it."

"Yes, well," said the visitor, whose employer had smashed through sanity and out the other side into a glittery, icy-cold world of decisions and logic. "I have a job to do here…"

His thin fingers searched along the wall until they found a hair-line crack. Success! Not many people know that plaster speaks. It creaks and cracks, communicating through sound and vision. The thin man pressed his face against the wall to follow the crevasses and pressed his fingers against the paint. He kept working the wall until he had the correct sequence and…

The door swung open.

There.

Proof.

Oh, Master Rowel would be so pleased!

"You ain't goin' in there," said a calm voice from behind.

The thin man turned. The beastly 'Hinkle' creature was filling some sort of odorous pipe, and seemed to be intent upon its task.

He turned back to the wall.

"Oi _said_, you ain't goin' in there."

The thin man turned again, looking a good deal more manic this time. "Oh? Oh? Am I not? Such a shame! Especially considering…whoops! I do seem to have one foot in, don't I! _And_ the other! What can I be thinking!"

Hinkle stared at the man in a reproachful manner. "You ought not be doing tha'," he said. "Thass Miss Byrony's passage, tha' is."

"Oh," said the thin man, delighted in a viciously poisonous sort of way. "So Miss Byrony does come through here!"

"Yer," said Hinkle, agreeably enough. "But she's the _only_ one who goes through there. Well," he added, "Exceptin' her young man, who I don't count at all cos' he ain't never swooned her once!"

The thin man chose to ignore this. "Well," he said pleasantly. "I think that Miss Byrony will have to learn to share, as I fully intend to make full use of these passages."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"_Yes_." The thin man became suspicious. Hinkle sounded far too hopeful.

"Hot damn!" cried Hinkle happily. "I ain't allowed to do nothing till you admit that! I said to Miss Byrony, I said 'I'll batter _anyone_ 'oo even _tries_ to go frew there.' Thass what I said! I said that!"

Hinkle drew a short and worryingly blunt dagger. "Er…and what does that mean?" asked the thin man, who was slowly drawing back into the darkness of the secret passage.

"I _means_ tha'I get ter _gut_ yer," said Hinkle helpfully. "And no one can yell at me fer it!"

The thin man drew a breath to shriek…but all he saw was the flash of silver as the dagger caught the light in its plunge towards him.

The souse-chef cocked her head. "Huh. No scream," she said. "You owe me two dollars Jekob."

"I think you'll find," said the young man with the large pot. "That our bet revolved around his pleading for mercy."

"Yes, and he _didn't_," said the souse-chef, the fiery-red hair poking out around her cap. "So that's two dollars you owe me."

"Ah, now we never negotiated a _silence_ clause-"

"What?! Oh, you cheeky monkey!"

The Chef shook his head, dismissing the argument, and looked bemusedly at the pantry-door.

Three in one week…

You'd think they'd learn.

* * *

As he tended to the fire, Rincewind watched nervously as Conina polished the steel of her sword. He had been offered one, but quickly declined. He hated weapons, and not just because they'd so often been aimed at him. You got into _more_ trouble if you had a weapon. People shot you instantly if they thought you were going to shoot them. But if you were unarmed, they often stopped to talk. Admittedly, they talked about rather unsavoury things, for example, about how your guts were going to look like all over the ground, but that took _time_. And Rincewind could do a lot with a few minutes. He could use them to live longer in, for a start.

Over to his left came the clanking sound of Byrony happily sorting out pots and pans, which glistened in the low light of the fire. It wasn't quite dark yet, but it was getting a bit cool and foggy, so they had lit a fire. Well, Conina had lit a fire, while Rincewind and Twoflower nodded approvingly and Byrony insisted that this time she would do it without setting anything on fire. No really, this time she would! Oh come on, it was _funny_!

The, there was a clicking noise, and a flash. Everyone turned to the source, which seemed to be a sheepish Twoflower. "Er- Just thought I'd take an iconograph," he said. "You know, so we can look back on these times and say…er…"

"'Gosh, I was hungry?'" volunteered Rincewind.

"I'm _going_ as fast as I _can_," said Byrony irritably.

"Can I see that?" asked Conina. Twoflower passed her the square. "Hmm…" she said as she examined it.

"Did you ever tell Byrony," said Twoflower to Rincewind suddenly, "about that time we went to Whale Bay?"

"Probably," said Rincewind. "But-" An idea struck him. Byrony had never believed Rincewind's accurate portrayal of the naïve Twoflower. "Yes, why don't you tell her? From a different perspective, as it were?"

So it began, with Byrony cooking, Conina polishing instruments of death and Twoflower enthusiastically recounting the many adventures he and Rincewind had shared. Of course, Rincewind kept interrupting with things like:

"Well, if you call trying to _eat_ us charming, then yes I suppose you _could_ call the natives that."

And "Majestic beast? It was a sodding _dragon_! Seriously Byrony, it was a big dirty lizard iff teece ike iff!" Byrony, for some reason seemed to find these comments terribly amusing.

Conina watched the circle, and couldn't help noticing that though Rincewind was contradicting each turn of Twoflower's tales, he was also carefully watching the girl with the sparkling green eyes, anxiously noting her reactions.

_Oh Rincewind,_ she thought amusedly. _You are in _big_ trouble my friend._

* * *

It was a beautiful afternoon, but it was quickly darkening and the warm air was beginning to take on a distinct chill. Lord Vetinari sat upon an ornate chair placed with great care and delicacy in the small fenced circle that served as a viewing area on top of Winslow Manor. He was scrutinising some important looking documents, perhaps trying to determine if they did, in fact, look better in the dimming light.

There was a small, polite cough from behind him.

"Archchancellor," he smiled, waving to an empty and somewhat less ornate chair beside him. "Sit down, do. And if another eager looking lad comes in our direction, contrive to look as uncomfortable as possible, won't you? I think it's what they're trying to achieve with these chairs."

Ridcully sat down, and then mused to himself as to how to approach the situation. Something was going on here, that much was clear. Byrony was nowhere to be seen, and the very faculty member the Patrician had requested had also vanished into the ether…

Ridcully cleared his throat. "Do you mind me asking-"

Vetinari held up a hand. "Think before you ask, Archchancellor. You might ask a question that would fall on unfavourable ears."

"Oh?" said Ridcully.

"And those unfavourable ears might not be my own."

"Right. Yes. What?"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, and it dawned on Ridcully that they had entered into diplomatic realms, where nonsensical sentences and erratic grammar were the norm.

"Ah, I see," he said, replaying the Patrician's sentence via newly tuned ears. "Well, er- I was just coming to see if you…if you had misplaced anything."

Vetinari made a small note on a brown paper folder. "No, I know where all my possessions lie, thank you for your concern. Was there anything else?"

"Er-" said Ridcully. "Well, have you lost anything of _mine_, perhaps?"

Vetinari paused. "Yes, actually. I am afraid it my have become mixed in with my belongings."

"Oh good," said Ridcully. "I was worried it would be sullying the name of the University."

"I can't actually guarantee it will be returned to you safely-"

"No, no, that's fine," said the Archchancellor happily. "Once you know where it is, sort of thing. And you…_trust_ my…item of uncertain nature, do you?"

"As far as it is possible to trust an inanimate object," said the Patrician smoothly. "I can safely say that yes, I do trust it to perform the task required of it. After all, do we not trust socks to cover our feet?"

"…yes?" said Ridcully, struggling for a grip.

"Indeed. I can see that you are well alongside the essential business of diplomacy."

"But," said Ridcully, as if he had to pull the words out of him from a great depth. "Do you think it's a good idea to send…to mix up those to completely inanimate possessions? I mean, have you heard the upper-class gossip about…those two inanimate objects?"

"I cherish my ignorance on the subject."

"Well, if it's ever found out that-"

"But it will not. And might I add, Archchancellor, that there are higher things at stake here then the relations of two inanimate objects."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Gracious. Even if ones a-"

"Yes."

"And the other's your-"

"_Yes_."

"Oh. What?"

Vetinari paused, perhaps wondering how far a metaphor could be extended. "The…destruction of inanimate objects."

"_Really_ inanimate objects or diplomatic inanimate objects?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, yes because if you say, snap a hairbrush in two, it doesn't tend to start screaming and writhing and swearing-"

"Perhaps you might join me for a sherry this evening," interrupted Vetinari, finally abandoning the whole concept.

"Capital!" said Ridcully cheerfully. "Can't be diplomatic over sherry, it sours the taste! No unfavourable ears in you office, are there?"

"If there are," said Vetinari. "They are soon to find out that it is a _very_ unfavourable place to be."

* * *

"It's ready!" said Byrony brightly as she brandished a cooking implement which, theoretically, held their dinner. "Well. Sort of ready. It's not wet anymore, certainly."

Conina looked at the mess sizzling in the huge frying-pan. It wasn't a sight to be seen on an empty stomach, although it could probably cause one.

"I wonder if the fungi around here are edible?" said Two-Flower weakly.

"All fungi are edible," said Conina, prodding the mess in the pan. "But, like this meal, some fungi are not edible more than once."

"Look, no one asked me if I _could_ cook," said Byrony reasonably. "You just asked me if I _wanted_ to."

"Hear that?" said Rincewind turning to the other two. "Hear what she just said? Imagine putting up with that for _two months._"

"You brave man," said Conina, now attempting to scrape the burnt lump out of the pan with a rock. "Byrony, if you travel all over the place, how do you survive if you can't cook?"

"Oh, I can cook meat and things," she said vaguely. "I'm pretty good at hunting and roasting over a spit. It's only when things get technical that I fall down."

"Technical?! You were making _stew_!" It then occurred to Conina that now would be a good time to have a little heart-to-heart with Rincewind. "Twoflower, take Byrony away and go search for edible things, the both of you."

"What, like berries and…things?" said Twoflower nervously.

"There's more food in my pack," suggested Byrony. "As opposed to searching on the ground for food we could just eat it that."

"Fine. Get firewood then."

"But we don't need firewood-"

"Well, soon we _will_ on account me having to burn the giant piece of mess that was to be our dinner. Ooh, look the flames are turning green. Now off you go."

Grumbling, Byrony took Twoflower's arm and dragged him deeper into the forest.

Rincewind was impressed. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

"No," said Conina authoritively. "Only a woman would be able to. Now," she continued. "I think it's time you and I had a little chat, don't you?"

"Do I?"

"What's going on with you and that girl, Rincewind?"

"Er-"

"I mean, the first day I met you, it was all 'ooh, I can't be alone with a woman'. I thought wizards aren't-"

"Allowed to do that sort of thing. They're not."

"Well?"

"Um…"

Conina looked at Rincewind, amused. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

Rincewind pursed his lips, looked at the darkening sky and did a quick calculation. "I'm about…sixty percent sure that we're soul mates."

"Well, that doesn't sound very sure to me."

"Actually it's impressive if you take in the fact that I don't actually believe in soul mates."

"Well, you don't look very happy about it," said Conina.

"I'm not happy about it! Do you think I want a soul mate? I don't want a soul mate! No one asked me if I wanted a soul mate!"

"Oh," said Conina, blinking in a shocked manner at this outburst. "Why don't you?"

"Weeell," said Rincewind expansively, "soul mates are a bit of a bother, aren't they? They're like bits of you that you can't see all the time. Would I like my foot wandering off and getting murdered? How about my neck taking a nasty fall? This soul mate business, it's a lot more taxing then it sounds." Rincewind cowered, expecting the blow of feminine ridicule of common sense in the face of love.

Conina, however, was beaming. "Rincewind, are you saying that you feel overly protective of her, because it's like she's a part of you?"

"Sort of. Maybe. Not really."

"You know, that's very nearly romantic."

"Shut up," replied Rincewind. After all, when you seek advice from someone it's certainly not because you want them to give it. You just want them to be there while you talk to yourself.

"But if you're not allowed to do that sort of thing…then…"

"We need boundaries!" Rincewind suddenly blurted. "And I don't know what they are! I don't know what _we_ are!" Rincewind desperately began to pace around the clearing. "I mean, are we friends? Colleagues? Our relationship should set the bloody boundaries but _I don't know what we are_!"

"Well," said Conina patiently, "maybe this is one of the things you could talk about with her?"

Rincewind stopped, and looked at her. "Er. I don't really like to ask her those sort of questions."  
"Why not?"  
"For a start, she might give me answers. And then what would I do?"

Conina shook her head, baffled at the sheer stupidity of the man before her. "Look, if you really like her…then why not…you know…just give it a go?"

Rincewind threw his arms up in the air. "Why does everyone I talk to seem to lapse into insanity?" he asked no one in particular. He turned back to Conina. "You see this hat?" he said angrily, pointing to the hat in question. "See it?"

"Yes."

"What does it tell you?"

"That you can't spell?"

"Ye- no! In fact, it tells you that I am a wizard, and by definition, do not _just_ _give things a go_ with young women!"

"Yes, but you're not actually a very good wizard, are you?" Conina pointed out. "You wouldn't actually be _risking_ anything, as such."

Rincewind pointed firmly to his hat. "Hat equals wizard. Wizard equals magic. Magic equals no carnal relations. End of story."

"Yes, but you don't actually _do_ any-"

"End of story!"

Meanwhile, as this argument raged on and went nowhere in particular, Twoflower and Byrony wandered around the place, picked up sticks, poked various interesting plants and sometimes talked to trees.

"Tell me something," Twoflower said after a bit. "Are we lost?"

"Yes," said Byrony promptly.

"Ah, I thought so," he said.

The after another little bit he said "What, really lost?"

"Really lost."

"Just us?"

"Oh no," said Byrony, shocked. "I know the way back to the camp. We're _all_ lost."

"All of us?"

"Yes."

"In the forest?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"_Yes_," said Byrony. They walked on in a companionable silence for a bit and then she said: "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," said Twoflower cheerfully. "Just that Rincewind was going on about how these trackless woods go on for miles and that people have been known to never return. Also about Enraged Mother Bears. I shouldn't tell him that we're lost, if I were you. He does tend to worry a fair bit."

Byrony nodded. "You know, it's at times like these, when I'm lost in a deep dark woods searching for the fuel that will aid my survival that I wish I had listen to the advice my mother gave me."

"What was that?"

"Well, I don't know. I didn't listen."

"Oh."

When their arms were full of burnable things, the two made a decision to return to the camp. Byrony reasoned that Conina would have finished talking to Rincewind by then.

"Did she want to talk to him?" said Twoflower, now slightly confused.

"Oh, yes," said Byrony knowledgably. "That's why she sent us away."

"Well, why couldn't she have talked with us there?"

"She could have talked with _you_ there. Not with me there."

"Why could she have talked with me there?" asked Twoflower, suddenly terribly insulted. "Maybe I don't want to hear her talk!"

"All right," said Byrony agreeably as they wandered along. "She couldn't have talked with you there either."

"That's better," said Twoflower, satisfied. After a bit, it occurred to him to ask "Wait, why couldn't she talk when you were there?"

"Oh," said Byrony airily, squinting up at the evening sky. "I imagine she's prying Rincewind for information on his feelings and such. No doubt a large emotional crowbar would have to be employed."

"Goodness," said Twoflower solemnly. "And is this-er…is this a result of the relationship you two share?"

Byrony blinked. "Well, I _hope_ so. Either that or we're going to go back and find Rincewind revealing how he _really_ feels about potatoes. And personally, I'm just not ready for that."

"He'll be a bit distracted then? For the evening?"

"Yes, but he'll snap out of it pretty fast."

"He will? When?"

Byrony chuckled. "When I tell him we're lost would be a favorite."

* * *

As the flapping of the bright blue butterfly's wings became weaker and weaker, Rowel closed the glass covering of the case, the hinges squeaking a little against the new wood. He hung it back on the wall, admiring the centre-placing of the silver pin as he did so.

She was gone.

He was certain.

He walked over to the heavily draped curtains, and twitched them aside to see the sun-set. The sky was an orange glow, with purple beginning to skim the edges of the horizon. He watched until it was more-or-less dark, an indigo haze of twilight. The forest, which fanned out behind the manor, was a dark stain, its individual trees indistinguishable in the gloom. It went on for miles and miles…

She had gone on her little quest, she would get what all the others before her had failed to retrieve, and then she would deliver it straight to him.

Rowel was in a very good mood.

While the cat is away, the mice may play. But while the mice are away, the cat may lie in wait and create numerous and ingenious traps of ice-cold death in preparation for their return.

Byrony was gone.

And Rowel had _plans_.

* * *

Byrony was right. All thoughts of carnal relations were driven from Rincewind's mind as a flood of 'dying in the forest' thoughts rushed in to have a party.

"Lost," he gibbered, pacing circles around the camp-fire and worrying the horses. "_Lost_!"

"There's no need to get hysterical," said Twoflower.  
"Yes, there is! What there isn't a need for is staying calm!"

"Well," said Conina, glaring at Byrony. "I call it irresponsible. How could you just wander into the forest without any sort of navigation equipment?!"

Byrony looked puzzled. "But you _knew_ I didn't have any-"

Conina waved a hand irritably. "Yes, but I thought you had a plan!"

"I did!"

"What is it then?"

"To get lost!"

Rincewind looked at her speculatively. "As plans go, it's not a great one, is it?"

"Look," said Byrony patiently. "In every story you've ever heard, do the hero's find what they're looking for by _looking_ for it?"

Silence.

"No?" suggested Twoflower.

"No!" said Byrony triumphantly. "They have to get lost, and then stumble across it during suitably mythic circumstances!"

Conina put her head in her hands. "She's insane."

"No," said Twoflower excitedly. "She's right! That's how it always works!"

"I'm officially declaring this a crisis," said Rincewind gloomily.

"Oh, it is not a crisis," scoffed Byrony.

"This is a crisis. A large crisis. In fact, if you got a moment, it's a twelve-storey crisis with a magnificent entrance hall, carpeting throughout, constant portage, and an enormous sign on the roof, saying 'This Is a Large Crisis'."

"You're over-reacting. You do that sometimes you know."

Conina turned around and began to go through her bags. "There must be a compass in here, or something," she muttered.

"I don't suppose you packed anything of an alcoholic nature?" said Byrony wistfully.

Conina rounded on her. "How can you even think of drinking now? We're lost because of you!"

"Lost I don't mind," said Byrony, who was, for some strange reason, now eyeing up a tree. "It's sobriety that's currently giving me difficulties."

"I personally think," said Rincewind slowly, "that I would be in a much better position to deal with the situation with something intoxicating in me."

"See?" said Byrony, now circling the tree.

"We shouldn't have to _deal_ with anything, not with a wizard on our side," snapped Conina.

"Er-" said Rincewind.

"Yes, I thought _you_ said that wizards had an inherent sense of direction," said Twoflower, in a slightly accusatory voice that manage to convey that though he thought that Rincewind was a great conjuror of power and might, it would be nice if he, Twoflower, was able to see the evidence of this every once in a while.

"Well?" said Conina, spitefully. "Go on, do something magic."

"Ah-" said Rincewind, and "Well-"

"We'd all be very grateful, I'm sure," said Twoflower encouragingly. Then he nudged Conina. "He's about to do something marvelous, you wait!"

"Really?" said Conina dryly. "Somehow, I doubt that _very_ much."

"Now, hold on a minute," said Rincewind hotly.

They held on a minute.

They held on a further seventeen seconds.

"Look, it's a lot more complicated then you think," he said finally.

"Told you!" crowed Conina.

Byrony's voice suddenly came out from behind the tree. "Stop picking on poor Rincewind," she said.

"Yes," said Rincewind. "No picking!"

"Shame on you, pushing him like that."

"Shame!" said Rincewind agreed, nodding frantically.

"We shouldn't ask Rincewind to prove anything."

"Not ask! Right!"

"As if he would stoop to conjuring on demand."

"Right, no stooping. Definitely no stooping."

"He needs to save his magic, for the perils we'll face!"

"Perils?"

"For the monsters and demons and creatures with weird slimy bits and tentacles!"

"Monsters and…er…really? I didn't-"

"And lions!"

"And tigers," said Conina, getting the joke.

"And bears," said Rincewind mumbled. "Enraged mother bears."

Silence.

"Oh my!" said Twoflower, feeling that it was somehow necessary.

"After all," said Byrony cheerfully, peering out and now patting the bark of the tree, "he's definitely a wizard."

"Right," said Rincewind, back on firm ground.

"He does lots of things that wizards do."

"Indeed," said Rincewind, puffing his chest out.

"Of course, magic isn't one of those things-"

"Wait just a-"

"But he _has_ to be a wizard," continued Byrony, her voice rising and gaining an element of anger. "Because he doesn't do _any_ of the things wizards _don't_ do."

There was a small embarrassed silence. Byrony fumed to herself for a couple of seconds while the others, taking the hint from Rincewind, backed away to a safe distance. Annoyed with herself, Byrony reflected that perhaps she hadn't forgiven him as much as she had originally thought.

After a minute or so, Twoflower risked asking if she was all right. "You er, you went a bit purple," he said.

"It was a nice purple though," said Rincewind loyally.

"I thought that vein on your temple was going to pop right out," said Conina.

There was another little silence as Byrony composed herself.

"You know, I think I recognize this tree," she said finally, her facial expression daring anyone to comment on what had just happened.

They all stared at her.

"Well," said Twoflower hesitantly. "There are a lot of them."

"And they all look the same," added Rincewind. "How do you tell the damn things apart?"

Conina snorted. "Maybe we've been going in circles. Maybe that's the same tree."

"No," said Byrony decisively. "I definitely recognize this tree. Rincewind, give me a leg up."

"A what?"

"I want to climb up it, see if I can see where we are," said Byrony irritably. "You put your hands down for me to stand on right? What did you _think_ I meant, mister wizard?"

"With you, it could mean anything," muttered Rincewind, trying to ignore the length of warm female brushing past his nose.

There were rustling noises from above as Byrony climbed higher and higher. Leaves and small branches fell, most of them hitting Rincewind.

"This is ridiculous," huffed Conina. "If we die out here, I shall be very annoyed."

"That's nothing compared to what I'll be," said Rincewind.

"What's that?"

"Dead."

"How could she see where we are?" asked Twoflower, peering up through the leaves. "We know where we are. We're in the middle of a great big forest."

"And not likely to get out of it any time soon," added Rincewind.

"I suppose there are animals around the place?" asked Conina. The horses had begun to shuffle nervously, whinnying softly as they did so.

"Oh, thank you very much," said Rincewind acidly. "I had just managed to forget the image of being mauled by an Enraged Mother Bear."

"Um," called a voice from above.

"What can you see? Do you know where we are?" asked Conina eagerly.

"No, I wouldn't say I know where we are," Byrony called down. "But I'd bet a fairly large amount of money that I know where we're supposed to go next."

"Really?" said Twoflower. "Where?"

"I'm going to say…the swamp."

"Well, all you've done so far is get us lost," said Conina sharply. "How do you know it's the swamp?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully. "It's probably the way it seems to be glowing…"

Suddenly there came a rustling from behind the three, and the bushes began to shake. "I'd better go up and check this out," said Rincewind hurriedly, scaling the tree with a surprising turn of speed. When he was near the top, a hand came down through the branches and caught his sleeve, helping him up the last few feet.

"We seem to spend so much time in trees, don't we?" said Byrony cheerfully. "I promise not to punch you this time."

"That," panted Rincewind, "would be nice. Not getting punched is one of my favourite things to do. Let's see this eldritch swamp, then."

Byrony frowned. "Oblong?"

They looked out across the forest. Immediately, Rincewind's eyes were drawn to a pale blue glow in the distance, which was somehow glassy and transparent. Slightly more worrying, was the ring of octarine which surrounded it- the eighth colour from the edge of the rimbow, and the colour of magic. It was visible only to wizards and meant that some extreme magic was happening.

Rincewind always thought it looked kind of greenish-yellow purple.

"This is not good," he breathed.

"It's kind of pretty, isn't it," said Byrony happily. "Well," she added. "Pretty in the same way that oil-spills are pretty, but you know what I mean."

Conina called up to them, annoyance clear in her voice. "It was just a _squirrel_ Rincewind. You can come down now, I want to see what's going on."

Rincewind made to climb down, but all of a sudden, the tree began to shake and the greenish-yellow purple colour that had been so far away only a moment ago outlined the leaves.

"What's happening?! What's happening?!"

"Hold on!" yelled Byrony. The world around them suddenly went white and a rush of wind filled their ears…

When they dropped out of the tree, it was onto a landscape that was not the one that had been originally underfoot when they first climbed up.

"Er-" said Rincewind.

They were now on the edge of the forest, right in front of the eerily shining swamp and far away from where they started.

Byrony let out a sigh. "Not _again_."

"What's again," said Rincewind, staring around him. "How did we- What the hell's going on? Again?"

"The damn trees- All right, one day a pretty dim friend of my father's happened to remark loudly that the forest was a big waste of space. My father pointed out that it was picturesque, but his friend insisted that all trees looked the same. The trees- the trees heard him, and out of spite they created a temporal loop in which they were all different trees but essentially the same tree."

Rincewind raised his eyebrows. "Are you telling me that…you climb up _one_ tree…but you climb down another?"

"Yes. Well, only if you piss them off, which you did. They're pretty tetchy, trees."

"I pissed them off?"

"_You_ said they looked alike. So this is your fault, is what I'm saying."

"It's worked out fairly well for us," Rincewind pointed out. "I mean, we've split up from Conina and Twoflower, but it's saved us a bit of a walk, anyway."

"I suppose. But this whole prank is a childish trick and I'd really thought the forest had grown out of it by now," said Byrony, giving the trunk of the tree a kick.

It promptly dropped something on her head.

"Ow! Wha- This is an _acorn_! An acorn! You're a _pine_ tree, where the hell did you get an _acorn_?! Ow! It did it again! Rincewind. It did it again!"

Byrony began to viciously kick the tree, which rained ill-gotten acorns down upon her. Rincewind, who saw where this was going, grabbed Byrony by the elbow and dragged her away.

"You coniferous bastard! Let me go! _I'll_ make his damn leaves fall off!"

They continued on like that, with Byrony ranting and Rincewind dragging her away, until they were well into the swamp, though it didn't help that the tree made razzing noises as they went.

Upon realising that the offensive tree was out of ear-shot (or whatever-shot), Byrony huffed, and began to go on ahead of Rincewind, stamping on the ground as though it had done her a personal injury.

"Careful!" called Rincewind. "It looks uneven! We probably shouldn't even be here without all sorts of ropes and pulleys and…things."

He squelched on through the swamp, lifting the hem of his robe. He was now in over his ankles, surrounded by yuk. Rincewind considered himself to be a city wizard, and as far as he was concerned, the wilderness was at its worse when it was wet.

"Urgh," he told the world in general.

Byrony was a couple of metres ahead, completely unmindful of what she was sloshing through.

"Don't be ridiculous," she called back. "It's perfectly safe."

Then, with a shriek, she dropped through the ground. There was a sploshing noise.

"Byrony?!" Rincewind ran forward, and threw himself flat on the ground to peer into the hole. After a couple of minutes, he propped his chin up on one hand to listen.

"My," he said conversationally. "We _do_ know a lot of swearwords, don't we?"

"I. Am. _Soaking_," shouted Byrony, who was now treading water in a deep black hole in the ground.

"You know, I didn't know that Klatchian swearing was so elaborate. I know the language, of course, but hearing you say _exactly_ where the donkey should be put-"

"Rincewind! You're not helping!"

"No," agreed Rincewind. "I'm not. I'm also not, and I want to make this clear, I'm _also_ not the one lying at the bottom of a water-logged pit."

She swore some more.

"I _told_ you to be careful."

"_Get me out!"_

"You know, you're really not in a position to be giving orders."

After some more swearing (this time by the both of them), some stretching, some grabbing and some pulling, Rincewind finally yanked her out of the dark hole in the ground. They collapsed panting beside the pit.

When she had gotten her breath back, Byrony sat up and tried to brush the mud out of her clothes. She then remembered why it is, in fact, impossible to do this.

"Uck," she said.

"Stop wiping it on my robe!" said Rincewind.

When they were ready, they continued on a little more, until the water to land ratio began to become distinctly unbalanced.

"It's just a lake now," complained Rincewind. "How're we supposed to find something that's submerged in a lake?"

"Aha!" said Byrony, raising one finger in the air.

Rincewind looked at her warily. "…yes?"

"I have a plan!" She pulled out what looked like a plate of glass ringed with rubber and a strap.

"Yes?" said Rincewind cautiously. "And what are we planning on doing with that?"

"It's one of Leonard de Quirm's inventions," explained Byrony. "He calls it The Mask That Clears the Distortion of Water Enabling Divers to See Clearly…but that's a bit long, so I call it a goggle."

There was a pause as they both looked at the goggle.

"Why?" asked Rincewind eventually.

Byrony looked uncertain. "Well, I don't know. It seemed…the right sort of name. Plus, when you put it on, it sort of sucks at your face and your eyes pop out."

"Really pop out?" asked Rincewind, alarmed.

"No, of course not really pop out. It just makes them, you know, goggle. You always assume the worst, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And I'm usually proven right, thank you very much."

"Well, at least I'm all wet already, and I don't have to take off my clothes."

"You-what?" Rincewind realised that Byrony was in the process of strapping the goggle onto her face. "Hang on, you're not going to actually dive in there, are you? To look for a tiny jewel in the middle of a huge lake, are you?"

"Why not?" asked Byrony in a nasally voice - the rubber of the goggle covered her nose. "I'm all wet and muddy anyway. Here, take my bag. My cloak is in it, so I'll wear that for something dry when I get out."

"But it'll take days to search the lake," continued Rincewind as he took her satchel. "And look! It's getting all misty!"

"Yes, but this is a _legend_," insisted Byrony. "Bet you a dollar I find it the first go."

"Oh no," said Rincewind, backing away. "I know all about lakes and legends. I swear, the _first_ ghostly hand I see appearing out of the water-"

"Relax, I'm the one diving. Go on, a dollar says I get the jewel first try. No? Fine then."

Without further ado, she elegantly dove into the black water, which engulfed her soundlessly. It closed up behind her with barely a ripple, and in it's eerily still state, it looked like a black mirror. It was near mid-night now, and the stars that appeared in the sky were reflected back in that mirror, and the white moon hung in the lake just as it hung in the sky.

Rincewind waited.

The hem of his robe was sodden, he was up over his knees in icy water and he couldn't feel his feet anymore. A couple of times, he thought he felt something slither around his ankles. The minutes ticked by…

And then a horrible, nervous voice in his head said: "Shouldn't she have come up for a breath by now?"

* * *

Back in the forest, Conina and Twoflower struggled with four horses. Well, it wasn't much of a struggle really. They tied one horse onto on of the other horses and they pretty much trotted along beside them. In fact, a better description would have been that they _didn't_ struggle with the horses. They actually sat down, enjoyed a fairly acceptable dinner beside a nice warm fire (for which there was more then enough fuel) and then weighed out the pro's and con's of going to find Rincewind and Byrony.

"They'll be all right," said Twoflower encouragingly.

"He's a total pillock," sighed Conina

"Between the two of them, they're bound to be all right!"

"And _she's_ two arrows short of a quiver."

"They've both been in situations like this before, after all."

"But then, when have they ever been in a situation like this before?"

"Alone…lost in a forest…"

"Together…lost in a forest…"

"It happens to Rincewind a lot, I know that. It must be fate again!"

"It will probably be a good thing. They can do all that talking that's long overdue. It's a stroke of luck, really, when you think about it."

So, without ever once actually talking to each other, both Twoflower and Conina went to sleep completely convinced they had done the absolutely right thing.

Of course, _one_ of them was praising the wrong god _entirely_.

* * *

Rincewind shifted slightly. Right, if he dove in now…

Well, she was probably still a bloated corpse, but at least his conscience would have something to cling to on those dark nights, which for some reason always occurred at four in the morning.

As if reading his mind, something chose that exact moment to cling to Rincewind's ankle.

He shrieked and flailed, marginally avoiding falling backwards into the lake through some sort of divine providence. Some sort of pale, ghostly, slimy creature arose from the depths and spoke thusly:

"Hah! You owe me a dollar!"

Rincewind slowly stopped flailing, feeling a bit stupid. "Byrony?"

She did a splashy little victory dance, the goggle still clamped firmly over her eyes and nose. "First try! _First_ _try_! Didn't I say! Well, you're down a dollar now, and let it be a lesson to you!"

"But you- hang on." Rincewind tried to put his thoughts in some sort of order after they had run screaming in all different directions in his brain. "_What_ did you find?"

"This!"

Byrony extended a dripping fist. When she opened it, Rincewind saw a blue sapphire was nestled in her palm. It glowed a little, and shimmered in the non-existent light.

"Eldritch," said Rincewind wearily. "Bloody _eldritch_."

"Uh, no," said Byrony helpfully. "It's more hexagonal, really."

"Are you trying to tell me that you found that little jewel in the middle of all _this_?" Rincewind flung out his arms in an attempt to encompass the huge wasteland of the swamp, which stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Yep," said Byrony happily, removing the goggle with an audible sucker-like sound. "I told you, but would you listen? This is going to be a breeze! Speaking of breezes…" Byrony gave a little shiver. She was dripping wet, and the temperature was falling fast.

Rincewind became aware of the fact that she was dripping wet. The rational part of his mind said: "Oh, give her the cloak!"

The part of his mind where his libido had currently set up camp said: _"Hey look! Her clothes have gone all see through and clingy!"_

Rincewind pulled the cloak out of the rucksack and threw it at her. "Here!"

"Thanks." Byrony wrapped it around her, but continued to shiver. "Doesn't do much good though."

"Well, let's get out of this damn swamp, anyway."

They began to wade and then eventually trudge toward the shore, and returned into the forest. The glow from the swamp faded as the left it, and seemed to transfer to the sapphire itself, which Rincewind examined as they walked along.

What was it for? He had assumed they were going to be getting the Orb, but it didn't really look like that anymore. Well, Byrony was happy so they must be on the right track. He pocketed the jewel.

"We should probably set up camp," he said, noticing how his breath plumed out in the air before him. Temperatures really _did_ change quickly around here. "Conina and Twoflower are probably worried sick." He thought about this for a while and cheered up. It was nice not to be the one worrying for once. "Yes, they're probably franticly scouring the forest as we speak. If we stay in one place, it will be easier for them to-"

Suddenly he realised he was speaking to air.

Byrony was crouched on the ground a couple of feet behind, her head bowed and her cloak clutched tightly around her.

"Er-" said Rincewind. "You okay?"

A small muttered noise issued forth. Rincewind walked over to her and crouched down. "Sorry, could you say that again?"

He strained to hear, and caught one word. "…c'ld"

Rincewind frowned. What was-

Oh.

Byrony was soaking wet, and the temperature had plummeted. She had forced herself on, because they needed to get out of that swamp, but now she was so cold, she could barely move. She was shaking so hard she couldn't prise her teeth apart, but she managed a fairly understandable sentence.

"Fire…idiot!"

Rincewind jerked up from his crouched position. "Yes! Right! Just…just…stay there, all right?!" he raced off to collect fire-wood. Byrony thought to herself that soon her rolling-her-eyes muscles would snap.

When Rincewind returned, she had collapsed onto her side. Her breathing was shallow, and her lips were blue. He frantically built up the wood beside her, and then began patting his pockets, saying the mantra that even non-wizards invoke in order to find matches; that is, he said "Matches, matches, matches," madly to himself, under his breath.

He found one, and scratched it desperately with his thumbnail. "Ow!"

He applied it to the wood, and patted moss around it to set it alight. He then began to huff on it gently, in that breathy manner that probably doesn't do any good, but which must be done in order to appease the fire gods of old. He glanced over at Byrony.

She was now completely still. He huffed a little harder.

Soon, there was a nice blaze crackling beside them. Rincewind leaned over Byrony and put his ear beside her mouth. Still breathing. Well _there_ was a plus.

"Bloody idiot," he muttered. "Walking around in the cold in wet clothes. What did you _think_ would happen?"

Byrony cracked open an eye. "Would you have preferred me without them?"

"Haha," deadpanned Rincewind, though he was secretly relieved. He helped her up into a sitting position. "How are you now?"

"F-f-f-freezing," she huffed. She was so cold she could hardly talk and she was still shaking uncontrollably. Her joints were stiffening up, and she could barely move. She was also feeling more and more like falling asleep, one of the sure signs that her body temperature was dropping dangerously. Well, only one thing for it…

"I can make the fire bigger. Or you could move closer. Or I could make it bigger _and_ move you closer, although the chances of burning to death would be incredibly increased-"

"Rincewind," interrupted Byrony who, despite shivering like a leaf in the wind, managed to glare at him. "Y-y-you know the w-w-way you're a wizard?"

"Um," said a bewildered Rincewind. "Yes?"

"And y-y-y-you know the way this m-m-means you're not m-m-m-meant to do inappropriate things w-w-with young w-w-women?"

"Ye-es?"

"Well, it w-w-would be very appropriate of you to take off all m-m-my clothes right about n-now."

Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirruped.

"Uh-" began Rincewind.

"Or I'll f-f-freeze to death," said Byrony helpfully.

"I see," said Rincewind finally, in a very restrained sort of voice. "Are we definitely talking about _all_ your clothes here?"

Byrony sighed. "I'm w-w-wearing a plaster cast on m-my chest for my ribs," she said patiently, through numb lips. "And I'll t-t-take off m-m-my own trousers, I just need you to p-p-pull of my shirt and j-j-jerkin-.I'm too cold to l-l-lift m-m-my arms."

"Well," said Rincewind slowly. "Are you sure-"

"_Do the words freeze to death mean nothing to you_?!"

"I'm sure you'd be fine doing it yourself," grumbled Rincewind, coming over to her. "I'm sure you hardly need my help at all."

"Just p-p-pull up my d-d-damn shirt," said Byrony irritably, shrugging off the cloak. Her clothes were still sopping, and the skin underneath was so cold it had turned an angry red.

"Right," said Rincewind. "Er. Are you sure you can't just-"

"_Rincewind_!"

"All right, all right!"

Gingerly, he pulled off her leather jerkin and wrung it out. "P-p-put it somewhere it'll dry, could y-y-you?" After some scouting around, Rincewind set up a sort of rack made from branches beside the fire and hung the jerkin from it. As he stood back to admire his handiwork, he noticed that Byrony had slumped to one side again.

"Hey! No sleeping Byrony, come on!" He hurried over and shook her shoulder.

"Jus' lemme sleep…"

"Not bloody likely. Come on, sit up."

She struggled up right, her skin like ice beneath his hands. "'s a blow to the ego, y'know," she said blearily.

"What is?" asked Rincewind.

"A man not wanting to take off m' clothes," she snorted, and then began to laugh. Then she stopped with an "Ouch!"

"Sorry," said Rincewind pleasantly.

"You did that on purpose," she complained, holding where Rincewind had squeezed her broken ribs.

"Snapped you out of your little delusional rant brought on by the cold, didn't it?"

"Rincewind, I'm f-f_-freezing_."

Rincewind nodded gloomily, and began to tug her sopping shirt out of where it was tucked into her pants. "Come on, stand up then, so I can pull it off."

They stood up together and Rincewind began to pull the shirt of over her head.

"If I hear you laughing," he said darkly. "I shall throw you into the lake, understand?"

There was a suspicious silence from Byrony.

He pulled off the shirt and quickly turned around to hang it on the rack by the fire.

Without once looking at her, he scooped up the cloak and wrapped it around her.

"I'm w-w-wearing a plaster cast," she complained, her voice muffled by the cloak wrapped over her mouth. "Y-y-you can't even _see_ my-"

"All right now?" asked Rincewind loudly. "Not dying anymore, are you?"

"W-well, a little inappropriate friction w-would be nice."

"_What_?"

Byrony grinned. "Just rub m-my back to get m-my circulation going."

Rincewind gritted his teeth, and began to do so perhaps a little harder then was necessary. He was highly aware that under the cloak, a few strips of material were all that separated him from-

"I swear," he said murderously. "You are _pushing_ it"

"Excuse me for not w-wanting to die," snapped Byrony. "Anyway, I'm not pushing it. You're the one w-with a weird attitude towards women!"

"I am not!"

"Are too! Tell me about your mother!"

"She ran away before I was born! And it's not me, it's _all_ wizards!"

"The rest of the faculty would fight for a kiss from a young woman, but you won't even stop one from freezing to death!"

"That's _different,_" insisted Rincewind.

"How?" demanded Byrony.

"Stop badgering me," said Rincewind angrily. "Why can't you just take it at face value that-"

"Um, Rincewind?"

"-I am a wizard, and this is how it works!? I mean, I get that we're alone now-"

"It's just that-"

"-but you have no _right_ to question me on these matters! How do you know-"

"Um. Ow."

"_You act like we're_-"

"You're hurting me, Rincewind," said Byrony mildly.

Rincewind stopped, and realised that he was clenching Byrony's shoulder tightly in one hand, and had been viciously rubbing her back very hard with the other.

He let go.

"Oh," he said, slightly shocked. "Sorry."

"It's okay," said Byrony encouragingly, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm _nice_ and warm now."

She did indeed have a better colour.

They looked at each other for a minute.

Well, Rincewind thought reluctantly, I guess now's the time to do that talking that Conina mentioned…

"Well," said Byrony cheerfully. "I guess now's the time to take off my trousers!"

Rincewind spun around, cheeks flaming.

"Can you imagine," continued Byrony conversationally as she shrugged off the cloak. "If someone just heard that part of the conversation? Conclusions would be jumped to, I'd imagine."

"Would you indeed?" said Rincewind through gritted teeth.

"Oooh," said Byrony from behind him. "My bruises are all purple and green! Rincewind, look!"

"My eyes are closed," said Rincewind firmly.

"You're not even facing this way!"

"Nevertheless!"

"There's nothing to see. I'm wearing a big cast!"

It was true. Bandages covered any skin that could have been described, in long or short form, as being titillating.

Rincewind continued to stare resolutely at the fire.

Byrony shook her head, amused. She used her cloak to dry herself off, and once she was warmer, managed to struggle out of her shoes, socks, trousers, undergarments...

Rincewind became aware of a steadily growing pile of wet clothing to his right, which was added to as soon as she flung away a recently shed piece of material.

His adam's apple bobbed. Whoever had created humanity had left in a major design flaw. It was its tendency to bend at the knees.

"_Now_ you shouldn't look," Byrony said from behind him, as she rummaged through her rucksack.

Rincewind remained stoic.

"Ah, here we go!" Out of the rucksack, Byrony pulled a spare pair of trousers. "I thought we'd get wet all right. No spare top though…" She struggled into them, and wrapped the cloak around her. "Now…socks, socks, sock…Ah!" Socks were duly located and worn. "Hmm… an hour by the fire should sort my boots. Still, better then nothing, wouldn't you agree?"

"Are you decent?" asked Rincewind stiffly, choosing to ignore the play on expression.

"Nope," said Byrony happily.

"I _mean_ are you wearing _clothes_."

"For want of a better term," she admitted. Rincewind turned and found that all major areas of skin were unexposed. He was flooded with relief, which was also tinged with a little something…

_That's disappointment,_ his libido pointed out helpfully. _I'm just saying._

That's ridiculous, thought Rincewind. And you are to stop saying right this instant.

"Okay," continued Byrony, who had returned to her rucksack. "I have food here. What are we in the mood for?"

"Oh no," said Rincewind. "No, no. You are not cooking. I like my meat to be on the edible side of the food-chain, thank you. Your meat is so raw, with a little encouragement it could probably walk off the plate."

"Hey!"

"_I'll_ do the cooking. Come on, pass over the food."

Sulkily, Byrony tossed over a couple of brown packages to him. They didn't have any cooking implements, but Rincewind was quite used to such situations and made do with a flat rock.

"The stars are coming out," noted Byrony.

Rincewind craned up to see. The icy air was making the brilliant specks of light appear to be brighter and sharper then usual.

"Very nice," he said. "Pass me those eggs."

Byrony passed him the eggs. "Can I do anything?"

"Yes, you can sit there and conscientiously make an effort not to interfere with the process in any way whatsoever."

"I am _not_ that bad a cook!" complained Byrony.

"In fact, if you could avoid even _looking_ too hard at the food? That would be great."

"Hey!"

And so on. They continued on like this for much of the evening, falling into the easy pattern that they had long-since established as the default grid for their relationship.

After they had eaten their fill, they settled down by the fire preparing to go to sleep.

"Uh," said Rincewind. "Maybe if you sleep on one side of the fire, and I sleep on the other-"

"Rincewind?" said Byrony tiredly. "It's late. Can we just pretend that we had an argument and that I won? Great."

Muttering to himself, Rincewind settled down beside her. He was horribly afraid that This Was It. This was the moment when carnal desires overruled all, and sacred tradition was desecrated for the sake of a warm embrace. He lay back, his head on the cold ground. Keep out of trouble and don't get involved, that was the important thing. Look at those stars up there, with nothing to do all the time but sit there and shine. They never got into situations like this, the lucky bastards…

"Are you tired?" asked Byrony suddenly. "I'm not that tired. Are you?"

Rincewind's mind slowed down. Right, he thought frantically. This _Is_ It. Then he stopped, and re-evaluated. Is it though?

"No?" he ventured. "I'm not?"

"Good! Well, what shall we do to keep ourselves amused?" she smiled lazily at him, in a manner which reminded him of a cat.

Oh yes, Rincewind thought. This is definitely _it_. Now what? Say something! _You're a wizard!_

_And isn't it _fun_, _said his libido spitefully_._

"Er. I wonder?"

"Well, we're all alone…in the middle of a big, cold forest."

"Graagh?"

"And now…and now…" Byrony trailed off.

Rincewind found his voice. "And now?" he said hoarsely.

"And now we're going to count _all_ the stars"

"Count the stars"

"Yep"

"All of them."

"Excellent way to fall asleep. I do it a lot."

"To fall asleep" said Rincewind flatly. The last couple of seconds hadn't really gone according to his internal script.

"Mm-hmm" said Byrony lazily. In his mind, Rincewind cursed. His libido seemed to have taken over a lot of the major functioning areas of his brain and was screaming suggestions which made it rather hard to focus.

"One, two, three-"

"No, hang on, wait." Rincewind struggled into an upright position. "Were not actually going to count all the stars are we?"

"Why shouldn't we?"

"Well, I mean…" Rincewind struggled with several reasons mentioned by the aforesaid libido, many of them unsuitable for the ears of children. "Well, for a start, it's impossible."

"Tell you what, you start counting, and I'll start counting, and whoever finishes first can owe the other one a dollar."

Rincewind settled back grumpily. "That's ridiculous. We'd be here for infinity."

"Infinity is a long time" said Byrony vaguely, her eyes drooping. It seemed she was tired, actually.

"Hah, actually, no, we wouldn't, because we'd die first, wouldn't we?"

"Don't be silly, we could just keep counting."

Rincewind considered this. He had never really thought about death beyond affirming the fact that he didn't want any, thanks, but he suddenly thought that the idea seemed appealing.

"What, you and me? Lying here, for infinity, just…counting stars?"

"Mmm-hmm…"

The more Rincewind thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. It was better then boredom, even. Nothing would be happening to him because hey, it already had, and he'd get to just lie there, with Byrony.

"Maybe," he mused out loud, "maybe that's what heaven is like."

Byrony snorted, and sat up. "Seriously?" she said. "That's what your heaven is like?"

"What's wrong with it?" said Rincewind defensively.

"That's _boring!_"

"That's paradise!"

Byrony gave him an appraising look. "You don't like life much, do you?"

Now it was Rincewind's turn to snort. "Well, the bits that don't leave me screaming are all right. They just leave me groaning."

"Right, yes…so…why are you so afraid of death?"

Rincewind stared at her. Why was he afraid of death? It was like asking, why was the sky, or what smell did yellow have. "Well, let me put it this way, when it's time to stop living, I will certainly make Death my number one choice. Until then, I'll avoid it as much as possible thank you very much."

"Well, you've met him, haven't you?" asked Byrony. "He's quite nice really. He likes cats," she added.

"Yeeess" said Rincewind slowly. "Other then his seeming obsession with me, he's a pleasant person….or anthropomorphic entity, as it were."

"So?"

"So…" Rincewind shivered. "I've seen the desert."

"Ah."

"Well, I also just happen to be fond of the general Uprightness of life. I mean, walking and breathing appeal to me…but I mean, that's one _big _desert."

Byrony looked at him in disbelief. "You're not afraid of crossing by yourself? I mean, you bloody crossed Fourecks! It can't be much more unpleasant!"

"Yes but-" Rincewind gulped. "When I crossed Fourecks, I had a fair idea of what would be on the other side."

"Which was?"

"Anything that _wasn't_ eternal judgement of my soul"

"Ah."

Byrony mused on this for a moment, and then she turned back to him, her eyes sparkling.

"I know. Whoever dies first waits for the other. Deal?"

"What?" said Rincewind, perplexed.

"If you die then wait until I die, and we'll cross the desert together! If I die, I'll wait for you. It's the perfect solution!"

"Well-"

"Come on, what have you got to lose? It might work."

"Wait in the desert?"

"Yep!"

"Alone?"

Byrony rolled her eyes. "Oh, you'd rather cross the desert alone to get to a fate that could be worse then death, and probably is seeing as you just died and would most likely get over it quickly, then wait for a little while for a compatriot to be a helping on the journey through the starless night of the afterlife"

Rincewind considered this. "Well_, _I don't think I'd get over _dying_ very quickly"

She beamed. "Right! You'll have time to compose yourself while you wait for me. Win-win situation!"

"Win-win? I'll be _dead_!"

"Deal?"

Rincewind sighed, and grabbed her outstretched hand. "Deal"

With a sigh of satisfaction Byrony settled back once more, and in a drowsy voice began to count.

After a moment, Rincewind grudgingly joined her.

* * *

Of course, if Rincewind had been aware of a little argument that was raging quite some distance away, he may not have rested so easily.

"Give it _back_."

"You're to leave 'em be and let nature take its course!"

"Gytha Ogg, I swear if you don't give it back _this_ _instant_-"

Nanny Ogg held the small bowl of ink further aloft. Of course, she was already quite short and rather dumpy, so this actually would have made it _easier_ for anyone who was attempting to retrieve it from her. Thankfully, she was also half-hanging out a window.

"I shall tip it!" she warned, wobbling furiously.

"You can't tip it," said Granny calmly. "Cos' I'll let go of your legs if you do."

There was a furious silence, in which cogs could almost be heard whirring in both witches minds.

Granny Weatherwax had been scrying on the entire journey partaken by the troupe. She was very keen to monitor there attempts to locate the Orb, and not just because she was pretty sure she was going to have to step in at some point and make sure they were doing it right. She tuned in and out, keeping abreast of their journey and keeping Nanny up to date, who had settled down in a comfy chair by the fire, surrounded by a large platter of delicacies (though there was nothing delicate about them). Greebo had slunk off somewhere, doubtless to stalk some of those weird blue birds on the lawn. He had made mortal enemies with them after an embarrassing incident involving expanding tail feathers.

Roughly ten minutes ago, Granny had tuned in on Byrony, just to see how she was getting on, sort of thing. Not _spying_, it wasn't _spying_. It was just checking to see that things were going to plan and making sure they didn't need her help. After all, she reasoned to Nanny, if they needed her help they couldn't ask for it, could they? It was up to her to be ready when she was needed. Which she probably would be.

She almost had an apoplexy when, in the small bowl of ink, she was witness to Rincewind removing Byrony's clothing.

Nanny had been peering over her shoulder and had the presence of mind to snatch the bowl of ink away. She then went flailing around the room in an effort to keep it all within the shallow container, resulting in her current situation. Granny had grabbed her legs as she had tipped out, and now they were both locked in dire negotiations.

"They need _privacy_, Esme," said Nanny firmly.

"They _need_ a wallop around the head," said Granny sourly.

Silence.

"I think," said Nanny carefully. "I think that this is a _good_ thing."

Silence.

"Don't you want to hear why?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh."

There was another one of those long drawn out pauses.

"I'm gettin' chilly," said Nanny conversationally.

"I should think your arm is gettin' tired as well."

"Yes…" Nanny gave in. "Well, pull me in then."

"Don't you think I would've already if I could?"

"You _can't_? I thought you just-"

"As if I would resort to such foolishness!"

"So I'm stuck?!"

Granny leaned to her left. "Hang on, these rope things look sturdy enough. I'll just hold these and you climb back in."

"But the ink-"

"_I_ thought you were going to drop it. _I_ thought _you_ said it weren't _right_ for us to be lookin'."

"Yes, well," said Nanny cheerfully. "It's not right for _you_. _You'd_ be gathering evidence. _I_ just want to make sure he does it right!"

"Gytha Ogg, may you be forgiven!"

With much heaving, pushing and use of the fine red velvet curtain pulleys, Nanny was quickly levered back into the room, and somehow managed to keep the ink inside the bowl.

They leaned over and peered in. There was a pause as they assessed the scene which was laid out in the bowl before them.

"Huh," said Granny finally.

"Fancy that," said Nanny, fascinated. "Didn't know you could do it like _that_."

"It doesn't look that hard," sniffed Granny.

"Say what you like, I'm impressed. Most men never get the hang of it. And he's out in the middle of a forest, too."

"Doesn't look like it'll turn out well if you want _my_ opinion."

"Byrony looks happy enough."

"She's not doing much, is she?"

"Well, I suppose when someone's doing something right, they don't need much help…"

The witches watched as Rincewind finished cooking a large meat and egg omelette using only a flat rock and twigs as utensils, and somehow frying it by rotating it by the fire. Byrony was chattering away happily.

"Nope," said Nanny cheerfully. "I never seen an omelette cooked like that. Have you?"

Granny gave her a Look, and out the bowl down. "Well, I don't suppose anything…_happened_."

"No, that omelette is almost done. They were cooking while we were arguing."

"I wasn't arguing," snapped Granny. "You were bein' foolish."

"Give the scrying a rest for this evening" said Nanny soothingly. "'Cos I just knows it gives you a headache. An' you're like a bear with a sore head when you've got a sore head!"

"Yes, well. Maybe…"

"And…" said Nanny carefully, aware that she was treading on thin ice. "It ain't really your place."

"What?"

"I mean, well, the fact of the matter is that Byrony's fully grown! Who're we to be watchin' her? She can do what she likes Esme, and that's the truth of it!"

"She has a duty," insisted Granny. "She has things to be doing. She ain't got _time_ for- for-"

"Love?"

"Pah. Love." Granny made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Love's for them that can have it. It's _personal_. Personal ain't the same as important."

"Lor' I hope you didn't say that to her," said Nanny fervently. "Esme, tell me you haven't filled her head with such notions."

"'Course I have!" said Granny. "She's to save the disc! She's not got the time-"

"She's _never_ got time!"

Granny paused and looked at her friend. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"I mean that the gods have it in for that girl! She ain't got the time for _anything_ worth havin' time for. 'Specially the things that ought to be taking up the _most_ time."

"Well," said Granny severely. "If you think she should fritter away her time on pointlessness, then fine. That as may be, she's an enchantress. She has a _duty_."

Nanny sighed, and gave in. There was no arguing with Granny when she was well and truly under the perception that she was completely and totally right. She would also never understand that often, it's the pointless things that have the biggest effect on us.

"Fine. But leave em' be for tonight, all right?"

Grudgingly, Granny assented.

But she left the bowl full of ink.

Just in case.

* * *

The sun came up slowly, as if it was hardly worth the effort. It lit up the top-most branches of the innumerable trees in the forest and worked its way slowly down into the gloom of the forest. In a small glade, it alighted upon two figures which were closely intertwined, their arms wrapped around each other in a subconscious protestation for what could never happen during waking hours.

Rincewind woke up slowly, in a muzzy and still not-quite-with-it manner. He felt…very content for some reason. Content and happy and warm…

He became slowly aware that the reason he felt so warm was that during the night Byrony had, in her sleep, somehow rolled over on top of him, her right leg flung across his waist. He, in turn, _completely unaware of what he was doing, _hadcoiled his arms tightly around her.

_Not so bad, is it?_

Shut up.

_No listen,_ said his libido urgently. _I've been taken over here. This isn't about sex, I swear. You're happy like this, aren't you?_

So?

_This is me speaking on behalf of your _entire_ subconscious here. We'd just like to say 'Stop being an utter _pillock_ and-'_

Someone coughed.

Rincewind's eyes snapped open and he sprang to his feet, causing Byrony to flip over.

"Oof!" She landed heavily on her stomach, slightly winded. "Whassamater? Who's dead? What?"

Conina and Twoflower were sitting on a log at the side of the glade, examining something in Conina's hand.

She looked up and grinned. "Good, you're finally awake."

"Morning!" said Twoflower cheerfully. "The trees led us right to you!"

"Not what it looks like!" babbled Rincewind. "We just- We were- _It was very cold last night_!"

"Listen, we let you sleep in but we had better get going."

"It was simply a matter of survival! Nothing else involved, I assure you! Hah, if you're going to let your mind stoop to the depths of such gutters, then-" Rincewind became aware that no one was actually listening to him. Byrony was rubbing her eyes sleepily and Conina and Twoflower were gathering up their bags. "Then-er…"

Byrony came over and patted him on the shoulder. "Give it a rest, Rincewind," she advised him. "Nobody actually gives a damn."

"Er- right. Fine then." At this point, Rincewind still felt the urge to clarify that the were actually partaking in quest related activities last night, and not merely engaging in less-productive activities. He reached into his pocket to retrieve the sapphire-

"Nobody move!"

Everyone turned to stare at him. He was standing stock still, his arms extended and his hands splayed out before him.

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Twoflower uncertainly.

"_I dropped the sapphire_," said Rincewind, his eyes frantically scanning the ground, which was scattered with pine needles.

Everyone relaxed.

"Idiot," said Byrony fondly, beginning to search the ground as well.

"No don't bother," Conina assured her. "I have it here. We were looking at it while you two were- er…sleeping."

"Don't say it like that! Why would you say it like that? That's what we _were_ doing!" said Rincewind irritably. Then, "Wait. Did you- You went through my _pockets_?"

"Yes, I figured you would have found it and-"

"You went through my _actual_ _pockets_?"

"Well, yes but-"

"My _actual_ pockets? You stuck your _actual_ hand into my _actual_ pocket?!"

"I fail to see what the big deal is here!"

"They're _my_ pockets! You don't know what I could have in there! I'm a wizard! We keep items of a dark mysterious nature of what ye ken not of in our pockets!"

"Really?" said Twoflower interestedly.

"Yes!"

"In your pockets?"

"Yes!"

"Gosh."

"I wouldn't like to trust a wizard with the Key to the Universe or something then," said Byrony, as she tied up a bag. "Can you imagine it? 'Ooh, I think it must have gone in with the wash!' "

"_Anyway_!" shouted Conina. They all looked at her. "Er- yes. Well, anyway, I have the sapphire, and it's working well enough."

"Oh, it is?" Byrony looked pleased. "That's good. I thought it would have been to long and the spell would have worn off."

"No, it's working fine."

"Well, _that_ should make things easier."

Rincewind looked from one to the other. "What? What? What's going on?"

"The honing spell on the sapphire is working," said Twoflower cheerfully.

"_What_?! _You_ know more then I do?! That's depressing."

"We got a letter explaining things," said Twoflower reproachfully.

"_Byrony_!"

She looked guilty. "Didn't you know?"

Rincewind looked at her. "Do I look like I'm aware of the days proceedings? Do I really look like someone sat me down and explained things?"

"No," she sighed.

"Then, _once again_, why don't _you_ do the honours?"

Byrony rolled her eyes, and took the sapphire from Conina. "The Orb is in a cave locked with a mechanism that needs four keys. This," she waved the sapphire. "is one of them. The other three are somewhere else in this forest. Probably in other fairly predictable places to do with the elements, if this is going to conform to the stereotypical nature of the common legend involving inanimate objects of magical power. And we're going to get them. Now."

"Oh," said Rincewind. "Right. Er…"

"Yes?"

"Honing…spell?"

Byrony tipped the sapphire into his hand, and Rincewind felt it. It was as if it was somehow attracted to something a little to the left, and it pressed gently in that direction.

"Honing spell. Right."

"All right?"

"Yes, good, fine. I am completely up-to-date on all current events which immediately threaten my well-being. It might have been nice to know about them _before_ we started… but mustn't grumble!" he said quickly, catching Byrony's murderous look. "We all have our path to walk, or so it is said, though not by me."

"Well, good. We need to conform to the legend here, so we all need to help each other, and thus perhaps engage in some form of character development involving the creation of new relationships and accruing of new skills and insights into our inner-beings."

They all stared at her.

"Really?" said Conina, in horrified fascination.

Byrony shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe."

"And will that help us find the Orb?" asked Twoflower.

"Can't hurt."

"Well then," said Conina firmly. "We'll all have to pretend to learn things and build new character strengths and things. Come on Rincewind, we're relying on you not to drag this down."

Rincewind, the born cynic, looked at them disbelievingly. "Are you being serious?"

"Rincewind!"

"Look, I don't see why everyone is depending on me anyway. I'm not dependable. Even _I_ don't depend on me, and I'm me."

"Rincewind, you are going to bloody well have a deep inner-epiphany whether you damn well like it or not!" growled Byrony.

"You've all gone loony."

"_Rincewind_!"

"Fine! Fine! Look, I'm developing a new emotion already! It's a cross between utter disbelief and sarcasm."

"But sarcasm isn't an emotion," said Twoflower, confused.

"It is the way _I'm_ going to be using it," said Rincewind darkly. "Bloody legends."

And so, after packing up all the supplies and getting Rincewind's hat back from a tree, they all mounted their horses, and with only a minor amount of squabbling

they rode into the forest…

They rode into the _legend_…


	3. According To Plan

A/N My sincere apologies for the delay, but hopefully this chapter will satisfy all you lovely, lovely people who review me, plague me with PM's and generally guilt- I mean, INSPIRE me into writing. Honestly, I can't thank you enough for the excellent feedback you supply me with. It's the only thing that convinces me to finish this godforsaken thing to the end! Enjoy!

It was dark. No, that was an understatement. It was _black_. It was so dark that given the amount of cloud cover, there was no chance for any eyes to become used to the nigh. They remained in total blindness. Rowel didn't know what the precise name for the geographical quirk which caused the nights in Istanzia to be as pitch as ink, but he did know one thing…

He _liked_ it.

He crouched over his desk, scribbling furiously on lengths of parchment as one of his tall, thin men stood by patiently. This one differed to all the others, however, because this on lacked the constant air of extreme irritability combined with an intense desire to please. This one was, in fact, Rowel's lawyer, and the employer of all those other tall, thin men who were wandering around the place. It was annoying really, the amount of them that seemed to run into the staff and then never came back. Of course, though this man was their employer, Rowel was _his_ employer, and thus enjoyed a semi-godlike status amongst the ranks of the tall thin men.

The lawyer's name was Craddick, and this did nothing to better his deposition to humanity in general, and to his parents in particular. He did however, admire Rowel in the way that a nuclear physicist admires a vibrating piece of uranium which is in the process of having its atom cells split.

It is said that lawyer's have no sense of humour. This is not true. They're just amused by other things…

Lawyers are the most sane of all the human beings to grace the face of the Disc. Lawyers must contend with the dregs of humanity, with the madness that comes when we release the beast into the red mist of our human angst…

However.

Rowel was not, by any means, insane.

No, Rowel was not insane. He was sane. He was so utterly sane that he had passed through the crystal walls of insanity before he had even registered he was there, and was now through to the other side. He was in the cold, icy calm world of sanity, where everything is as it should be. And if it is not…well then clearly it is your job to make it so.

Craddick saw this, and marvelled at a genius that he could only ever to aspire to. Of course, like all ice in a rapidly heating atmosphere, Rowel would eventually crack…but that could be dealt with later.

"Now." Rowel calmly slid the piece of pare over to Craddick's side of the desk. Having no chair, Craddick leaned over and peered intently at it. He was short sighted, but refused spectacles on the grounds of mere vanity.

"Ah," he said, drawing back surprised. "Very…astute of you, si-"

Rowel shot him a warning look.

"My lord," amended Craddick. "Very astute of you, my lord. Ah…if I am correct, you are going to appeal to the group psychology of the lords and ladies present at this gathering?"

"Mob," said Rowel, as he adjusted the wick of the oil-lamp. "Don't pertain to give them better names then they have already bestowed upon themselves, Craddick. It's a mob, and I am going to mould it to my own means. She thinks _she_ can use rumours to her benefit? She thinks she can use the mass consciousness to fulfil her needs? Well, that just wont do, will it?"

"My lord?" asked Craddick. He had no idea what his employer was talking about.

Rowel smiled. "All it takes is one bad egg, Craddick. One bad egg."

"Just as you say sir," said Craddick.

* * *

The bad egg in question happened to be Lady Sabrina Quimby, an ancestor to that once famed Ankh-Morpork ruler of old. A past Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, Olaf Quimby was noted for his interest in honest and accurate descriptions as well as proper standards for everything, particularly metaphor. As Patrician, he used his power to enforce laws against creative exaggeration in writing. For example, no bard was allowed to say of a hero that "all men spoke of his prowess" on pain of death; he should instead add that some people spoke ill of the hero and that still others did not know of him at all. As far as standardization was concerned, Quimby instituted the Ankh-Morpork Bureau of Measurements, in which is kept the standardized Blunt Stick (originally a Sharp one was on display as well, but very few things were found worse than a poke in the eye with it), the recipe for the Pie that It May be As Nice As, Two Short Planks and the stone used in the original Moss-Gathering Trials. This Bureau is maintained by the current Patrician, Lord Havelock Vetinari, on the grounds that the sort of people whose minds work like this ought to be kept busy, or they might do _anything_.

Anyway.

Lady Sabrina Quimby was by no means a _direct_ ancestor to this Patrician, but she was direct enough to realize the possible benefits to be gained by being the bearer of a once famed name.

She was, at the moment, sitting on a sunny veranda and fanning herself in a manner which was somewhat more aggressive then the manner employed by the delicate ladies of that day. She was also glaring out onto the smooth grounds of Winslow Manor, where a number of the younger nobles had begun a game of croquet.

Craddick smoothly sat down beside her. "Might I enquire as to how her ladyship is enjoying the game?"

Sabrina barely looked at him. "Her ladyship would enjoy the game a lot more, if certain individuals of lower birth-status didn't deign to impose upon her time."

Believe it or not, Rincewind would know Lady Sabrina if he saw her. When he had wormed his way into the group conversation at the ball, she was the one who cut off Master Sebastian Hudsley in his defense of Byrony Winslow. She was the one with the pointed nose and the sharp face. She also had deep, golden blonde hair, which was teased into one of the most popular styles of the day. She was in fact quite attractive, in a _sharp_ kind of way, but her intense nature tended put off possible suitors. Both her parents were dead, her father before her mother, and both had given her different advice on how to continue the family line.

Her mother had told her to follow her heart, to wish upon a star and to always be true to herself…

Her father had told her that only the finest breeding would do, looks and good teeth if possible, and if he didn't weigh up in her eyes, well, then she could take weigh of his money-bag and see if that tipped the scales any better.

Sabrina had taken both parents advice to heart, and as the years passed, she became more and more convinced that she would never find a suitor that would fulfill the requirements as specified by both parents…

And then she met Sebastian.

He was everything she could have hoped for, and more. From the moment she saw him, she had been entranced with that chisled jaw, those stely eyes, those handsome features. Once she had become acquainted with him, she then realized that a _kind heart_ beat behind them.

Oh, so he wasn't the brightest spoon in the drawer! So what? That didn't matter. She loved him, and had loved him from the moment on the step when she had slipped and he had caught her…

So, she had attached herself to him like a limpet. She more or less became his older, wiser sister despite the fact that she was five years younger then him. They were rarely seen apart at social gatherings, and it was more or less assumed at this stage that they would be married, simply because everyone _knew_ that a Quimby girl would get her own way…and the gods _knew_ that the Hudsley boy wouldn't have the wits to ask any other young woman to enter the contract of matrimony anyway. He was nice, of course, but dim. Added to that was the disgrace their families would come under if it transpired that there was no sign of matrimony on the horizon, though they traipsed around all the balls together.

So, it would seem that they were to be married, especially after some very encouraging yet _pointed_ remarks from Sebastian's mother.

But Sabrina didn't want it to seem.

She wanted him to _ask_ her.

She wanted him to want her the way she wanted him.

She sat there on the veranda and watched as he played croquet with some other men and some simpering girls. She loved him, but she could never feel like she was anything other then a killjoy. _She_ was the one who told him when certain actions might be unseemly for a future lord. _She_ was the one who stood by his shoulder and advised him during the diplomatic situations. _She_…

She was the one who had decided that Byrony was not a good friend to have. When she had heard him defend the Lady Winslow at the ball, a vile acid had risen to her throat. He was friends with her, _apparently_. They went horse riding together whenever Byrony was in Quirm.

That night, she consoled herself with the thought that though he may want Byrony, he _needed_ her. He needed someone sensible. Dependable. Byrony was none of those things.

Sabrina had conversed with Byrony long enough to know that she was flighty and somewhat irresponsible. Little did Byrony know, but Sabrina was actually sharp enough to catch the mocking glances she occasionally cast upon the upper class, and she didn't like it one bit. Perhaps Byrony was mocking them for there social order and the way they looked down on others, but wasn't she doing the same thing herself? Wasn't she, in turn, looking down upon them? Sabrina wanted to slap her, but that wasn't generally the done thing at a ball.

Byrony had no considerations for the feelings of those she didn't considerer to be worthy of her personal attention.

Byrony would leave Sebastian standing by himself at a ball. She would go off and do some other silly thing, like hide in the gardens, with no thought to how it affected the people around her. Her poor Uncle would have to explain to everyone where she had gone, the host of the party would have to laugh it off nervously over forced titters of social degradation, and Sebastian would be left standing alone. Alone with no one to tell him which fork to use, or what it meant when a diplomat told him that things in that particular region were "…_complicated_."

Sebastian never understood the meaningful pauses. Sabrina had tried them on him enough times to know that for certain.

She scowled again, a sight that would make the faint of heart flee. That scowl was a sign that her acerbic tongue was about to let loose.

"Such a shame isn't it," said Craddick mildly. "That Lady Winslow cannot be here."

Sabrina declined to comment. Quite frankly, she couldn't give a damn if the Lady Winslow fell down a deep hole and never came back up. Sabrina was much more interested in the political meaning of this entire event. Everyone _knew_ that the elections for Istanzia were coming up, and everyone was very much _not saying anything about it_, but in rather ingenious and diplomatic ways.

Craddick examined his fingernails in a genteel manner. He had no fear of this hissy little madam. Spend thirty minutes in a room containing one angry Rowel and you pretty much lose fear of everything.

"Such a shame," he sighed. "What _bad_ luck."

Sabrina's ears pricked. "What _are_ you talking about?"

Craddick frowned, his faced filled with honest perplexity. No one can lie like a man without a conscience. "Why, for her Ladyship to be sick, of course!"

"Is she sick?"

"Well, I had assumed so! Why else would she be missing the truly delightful festivities that this political drive has to offer?"

Suddenly, Craddick had Sabrina's attention. "_What_ did you just say?"

"Well, I mean, I'm sure it's not my place to speak of her ladyship's health…not my place in the slightest…"

"No, forget that. What were you saying about a political drive?"

Here, Craddick affected an air of hesitance. "Well, I thought…personally…that the entire event has been somewhat directed toward the support of Istanzia? You know, the true princess of Istanzia, whatever that means in today's politics," he scoffed.

Sabrina looked sharply at him. "It could mean a lot, actually, taking the general disposition of the voting populace into account."

Craddick cursed inwardly. She hated Byrony, but she was also no fool. "Well, I wouldn't know anything about that, m'Lady. Though I have heard…"

"Yes?"

"Someone saw her leave."

"Leave where?"

"Leave the _grounds_, m'Lady. And by my count…she hasn't returned.

He watched the expression on Sabrina's face change from suspicion to realisation. Of course there were rumors. There were _always_ rumors.

_Could it really be that simple?_ wondered Craddick_. _Could this woman's support of the crown of Istanzia be turned to Rowel simply because she disliked Byrony?

The cogs in Sabrina's mind were turning, whirring furiously. She lived for this sort of thing, for the political intrigue to be unearthed from the wriggling mass that was politics. If she had been a bookie, she would have been the type that always knew which horse was going to finish first and _everyone knew it._ Sabrina was considered to be the last word in the politics of the Disc, an unusual hooby for a woman, but everyone reasoned that since she wasn't actually _involved_ then no harm could come of it. What they didn't reale was that by being the last word in politics, Sabrina had managed to not only beome involved, but was now, in fact, a key player. By being the last word in politics, she had the status to indirectly influence the outcom of certain political drives simply by being the source of most of the upper-class's information.

Before this, the race between the Princess and Rowel had been even-odds. The people were leaning towards the crown, in a desperate attempt to regain the glory days of the past, but Rowel had offered them what no self-respecting citizen could deny: A place in the history books. Obviously, there was some military element to be expected (or so Sabrina suspected) but that was only to be expected.

And now… Byrony was helping the princess?

She wasn't helping Rowel, that much was for certain. If that was the case, Rowel would have had her glued onto his arm like the sticky little slug he was. Sabrina didn't like Rowel. You'd be hard pressed to find someone who did.

So. Byrony wanted the Princess to win. Well, the Princess would win anyway, wouldn't she? I mean, whatever Byrony was doing, it couldn't _possibly _have any affect upon the votes of the citizens of Istanzia, could it?

And Sabrina so wanted Byrony to fail…

"Talk," she commanded, no longer upholding the pretence that Craddick was merely an uninformed servant. "And if you are _very_ _good_, then perhaps I shall listen."

* * *

A long, long way away, a group of people sat around a fire.

They were the few and the chosen. Noble individuals who set out on a quest of greatness giving no thought to their personal safety.

The fate of the Disc rested upon their shoulders, no doubt filling them with something akin to a great awe mixed with foreboding dread...

"I'm just _saying_ that any person whose idea of heaven isn't filled with scantily clad dancing girls is clearly doing it wrong."

"Doing what wrong?" asked Twoflower, interested.

"_Life_," said Byrony firmly, as she twisted the rabbit over the fire. It was in the early morning, and they were taking a little break. She had set up a snare little over twenty minutes ago, and the fruits of her labour were now sizzling nicely.

Three of the four jewels needed to access the Orb had been found and accounted for, and this had been accomplished in such a short space of time that Byrony was becoming almost unbearably smug. A diamond had been located in a fissure which seemed to crack open just to allow an exhilarated, over-excited Twoflower to squeeze through to procure it, and Conina had lithely scaled the small mountain presented to them in order to obtain a milky opal.

Byrony had been soaked through, Twoflower had come out covered in earth and Conina had been windswept and shivering.

On learning that he would be the one who would be dealing with the element of 'fire' Rincewind's reply had been: "Typical."

Now, they were in high spirits, working towards their final goal. The Orb was located at the centre of the forest, in a cave cleverly hidden from those not in possession of the jewels. As soon as they recovered the last jewel, all that was left was to pick up the Orb and head back home.

"I just _can't_ believe counting endless stars is where you want to spend your time on the immortal plane, Rincewind," said Conina. "What about palm trees and sherbet and young women and so forth?"

"I don't like sherbet," he said sulkily. "I can't use the straw properly and it goes up my nose."

Conina gave him one of those long, slow looks. "Right… And the young women?"

"Yes, I've always wondered. Do they bring the straws?"

"No, I don't think so…"

"Well. My heaven contains very little of anything but stifling boredom and complete reputation of completely foreseeable tasks, thank you."

"Sounds unbearable," said Byrony cheerfully.

"Oh, I don't know," said Twoflower thoughtfully. "I used to go fishing with my father when I was young. Absolutely nothing ever happened but they were some of the most enjoyable experiences of my life."

"That sounds nice," said Rincewind, helping Conina take the rabbit off the fire. "I like the part where absolutely nothing happens."

"Yes, it's how men of my culture relate to their off-spring."

"By engaging in a vaguely sports-related activity in which they can have conversations without directly looking at one another?"

"Precisely."

"Still though," said Conina, unable to move away from the subject. "Counting stars forever? I think I'd stab myself in the face just to relieve the monotony."

"Can we just let it go? Please?"

"_I_ thought it would be something involving potatoes," Byrony confided to Twoflower.

"Really?"

"Oh yes," she continued knowledgably. "Rincewind has misplaced sexua- mph!" There was a sudden flailing of arms and red robes. When the scuffle ceased, Conina and Twoflower were privy to the sight of a wizard straddling a young woman, who was face up, lying on the ground and livid.

"Now," said Rincewind calmly. "I have my hand over your mouth. I am going to remove said hand when I am sure that you are going to continue this conversation in a manner befitting our current company. Clear?"

"Mph! Mph-mmmph!"

"Not until you agree."

Conina, who was finished stripping the meat off the rabbit, turned to Twoflower. "You know what I love about wizards? It's the air of _decorum_ they seem to carry around with them. I don't know, it's a sort of _dignity_."

Rincewind ignored her. "Are we ready to rejoin the adults?" he asked Byrony.

"Mmph mphmph mmphm _mmmph_ _mph_!"

"Threatening to kill me is doing nothing to increase your chances."

"Hurry up and apologise, Byrony," Conina said irritably.

"Yes, you're lunch is getting cold," called Twoflower, his mouth full.

Rolling her eyes, Byrony nodded.

"Yes, you agree that it's doing nothing to increase your chances or yes I agree to leave the topic of conversation I was previously pursuing?"

"Mph."

"Good enough for me."

Rincewind got up and hauled Byrony to her feet. Together, they sat beside Conina and Twoflower and began dividing up strips of meat.

"One day, Rincewind. One day you'll accept the truth," said Byrony matter-of-factly, holding out her plate as Rincewind layered strips of rabbit onto it.

"I sat on you once. I will do it again."

"Acceptance is the first step."

"Oh? Is the second step locking it away and never speaking of it again?"

Conina smiled to herself. Twoflower was looking anxious, but these arguments were daily occurrences between the young woman and the wizard. Conina knew that they enjoyed them, and she half-suspected that they were held for her own and Twoflowers amusement.

"Can't argue with the truth, Rincewind!"

"In my experience, _you_ can argue with _anything_."

"Yes, I argue very well," Byrony told the others haughtily. "I am a fine and stimulating debater on various topics"

Rincewind nodded. "Just ask any of her remaining friends."

"I can win an argument on any topic against any opponent," Byrony continued loudly, pretending to ignore him.

"People know this and steer clear of her at parties. Often as a sign of great respect, they don't even invite her."

"What are you, the avatar of annoyance?"

"_This_ is coming from the young woman who decided to sing the entirety of the Hedgehog song all morning?"

"The timing felt right."

"For that song? The timing is _never_ right."

Conina shared out more meat. "Enough you two. Ye gods, will you ever shut up?"

"Perhaps you should just make up and say sorry?" suggested Twoflower timorously.

"He started it."

"You started it!"

"Wha- you _sat_ on me!"

"Only after you-"

"Enough!" shoutedTwoflower. A few birds flew away, and Rincewind and Byrony looked shamefaced. "Now that is enough!"

"But he-"

"Don't _make_ me come over there young lady! Now, I have had quite enough of this nonsense. You are both to apologise and shake hands. I mean _really_, if you don't start to behave, then I am turning this adventuring troupe around and we are going _straight_ back to the manor! Now apologise!"

Rincewind and Byrony limply shook hands and muttered something that may or may not have been 'S'ry'.

Satisfied, Twoflower nodded. "Now, if I hear another word out of either of you, there will be no more quest to save the entirety of the Disc. Eat your lunch."

As they tucked into their meal, Conina looked at Twoflower with admiration. "How did you manage to do that?"

"Raise two children and you may see for yourself."

"Ah. Well, now that we're all calm, why don't we get back to the more serious matters. We're getting very near to the end of this whole thing, and I was wondering Byrony, could you give us a little more history on the Orb?"

"Why?" said Rincewind. "Like you said, it's nearly over. Why would you want to give the rest of us more memories to repress?"

Conina resisted the urge to throttle him. "Humour me, why don't you."

Byrony nodded. "All right. You know that the Orb was originally used to bring exceptional harvests to the people of Istanzia-"

"So, it's a fertility charm?" suggested Twoflower.

Byrony shook her head, irritated at the interruption. "No, much more powerful. Its origins are a bit hazy, but we pretty sure that it's a highly magical object. It's a bringer of _life_. It could take completely dry seeds and germinate them from nothing. There is one recorded instance, back before they invented spelling, where it apparently 'brought thee fickly cattle back to lyfe'."

"But it's out of magic now?" asked Conina.

"Ye-ess…"

Rincewind sighed. "All right. Now tell us the bit that you're not telling us."

"Fine. Pay attention, because I'm not repeating this." Byrony leaned forward. "The Orb was stolen and hidden by a rebel group, yes? Well, the leader of that rebel group was actually a high priestess dedicated to the care of the Orb."

"But…then why did she want to take it from the royal family?" asked Twoflower, frowning. "Wasn't the orb passed down through their line?"

"Oh sure it was, it's the latest princess's birth-right. But listen to this: Uncle Havelock found a transcript of the oath the priestess took, and it had a major loophole."

"What?"

"She only had to vow to protect the Orb. There was no mention of any alliance to the crown whatsoever."

"So that means," Conina said slowly, "that she did what she thought was best for the _Orb, _not the country."

Byrony nodded, tossing a scrap of meat into the air and neatly catching it in her mouth. "Exactly. There's pretty strong evidence that she and her followers sort of worshipped it like a god. My best guess is that the Orb needs time to…I don't know. Re-charge? The royal family were going to tap it dry in their attempts to regain the throne, and she wasn't about to let that happen."

"So she hid it away so that someone pure of heart would find it!" exclaimed Twoflower.

"Not exactly. She was a sly bitch, that one. I believe her exact words were 'so that anyone who _deserves_ it will find it.'"

"What does that mean?" protested Rincewind. "I get a lot of things I don't deserve. What does _deserving_ it have to do with anything?"

"I really don't know. I expect we shall find out."

"Unfortunately, I agree," said Rincewind gloomily.

"Well, I guess we'll just keep-" Conina began, but then she broke off. "Twoflower! I told you not to bring that!"

Guiltily, Twoflower paused in picking up the large rock that had fallen from his rucksack. He had taken it from the rock-face that had held the air-opal. "It's just a souvenir. It's not every day that a man goes into an enchanted rock face to find a mythical source of power, you know."

"Yes, it only happens to me every other week," Byrony heard Rincewind say under his breath.

"It's a lump of rock," said Conina witheringly. They were all getting a little tired of Twoflower's tourism. He had taken pictures of every damn thing that was in the least bit magical- which was almost everything in this forest- and also insisted on taking iconographs of them performing completely uninteresting tasks, claiming that they would be treasured memories later in life.

Conina and Byrony admitted that, yes, that time when Rincewind slipped and rolled down that steep gulley into the gorse bushes was indeed going to be a most treasured memory, but an iconograph of them dealing with irate horses? Not so much.

"I mean," she went on, "if it had some sort of magical ability, then I'd understand, but you are carrying around a lump of _rock_!"

"There's a rune on it!"

"I think that's dirt…" said Byrony, peering at the large stone in Twoflowers's hand. "Yep. Definitely dirt."

"It's a dead weight."

"It's a keep-sake!"

"Look, it comes right off if you rub it with your thumb..."

"We have a long way to go yet, and you're going to carry around a big stone in your bag?"

Twoflower didn't respond but returned the rock to his rucksack, his lips compressed into a thin line.

Conina sighed. "Fine. Keep it. It will never be useful for absolutely anything ever, but what do I care? You can put over your fireplace when you return home."

"That's just what I intend to do," said Twoflower firmly.

Conina snapped. "_It's just a lump of rock_!"

Rincewind grabbed her shoulders and made calming noises. "All right, let's all calm down, shall we? Let's take a minute to ourselves. Byrony? Take Twoflower away for him to have a minute to himself."

Trying not to laugh, and failing miserably, Byrony went over to the horses with a sulky Twoflower.

"Deep breaths," Rincewind informed Conina. "Take deep breaths. You know, you and I have much more in common then we realise."

"Too true," huffed Conina, massaging her temples with her eyes closed. "How's it going with Byrony?"

Rincewind froze in the process of scraping off the leftovers into the fire. "I beg your pardon? Did I just miss a large and extremely inappropriate section of this conversation? How did we go from you having a nervous breakdown to- to _that_."

Conina didn't say anything, she just made a twirling motion with her index finger.

"We're just friends," said Rincewind firmly.

"Oh, don't start _that_ again-"

"No, don't _you_ start that again. This is none of your business anyway."

"Don't you think it's a little strange the way I knew that you two were in love instantly?"

"We're not-"

"I mean, it just came to me, in a flash of inspiration! Almost like someone wants me to be influential in your relationship."

"Well _that_ thought is just too ghastly to even consider…"

"You can't be just friends. It would be an affront to the laws of romance." Rincewind stared in horrified fascination at the woman before him. Conina, a woman he had once seen stab a man in the face with some hairdressers scissors, was becoming quickly obsessed with his love life.

"When you first saw her," she continued, "did you by any chance hear an orchestra? Singing birds? Did everything go all misty and glowy?"

"Er-" said Rincewind. "No."

"Well, what was your first thought?"

Rincewind remembered that day, back in the library and the subsequent trip to the Watch-house. "I think it was something like 'Bugger, I'm in trouble now'."

Conina looked at him, her head to one side. "You know…for you, that might have actually been quite romantic."

"Can we just drop this?" growled Rincewind. "Can we just drop it, let it smash on the ground and say to ourselves we'll fix it later then put it away in a dusty cupboard and _never speak of it again?"_

"Absolutely not. Don't you want to be happy?"

"At this point, I'd settle for deaf. Listen, what you're trying to do? It's not going to happen."

"But I can _help_ you."

Rincewind allowed himself a tiny glimmer of hope. "How?"

"Well," Conina said thoughtfully, "maybe you should try going in a different direction about it."

Rincewind threw his arms into the air. "Why didn't I think of that _before?" _he said, clapping himself in the forehead dramatically. "Oh, all I have to do is go in a different _direction! _I see it now…everything has become so much _clearer…_"

"Shut up," Conina ordered. "Do you want me to help you or would you rather sit around making sarcastic comments?"

"I can't have both?"

"This is love Rincewind. You can't just- just- _dismiss_ it!"

"You know, there's a very fine line between love and nausea. Did you know that? I've discovered that. The whole butterflies-in-the-stomach thing is just a fancy way of saying intestine churning nervousness. People don't really talk about it, but it's true. Poets don't seem to capture that aspect of love very well. I've never read a poem that went 'Oh my love is like a comet, I get so nervous that I -'"

"_Rincewind_! This is exactly what I mea-" Conina stopped, and picked up one of the rucksacks around the fire. There was a piece of material hanging out of it, which was revealed to be a long dark-green cloak.

"Ah," said Rincewind knowledgably. "Taking other people's thing that don't belong to you? That is what we call _stealing_. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't steal, but that cloak happens to belong to-"

"Is this Byrony's?" interrupted Conina, her voice strange.

"That's _right_, so what I'm saying _is_, put it back now and she'll be none the wiser. She likes that cloak. Her uncle gave it to her." Conina stood up and put the cloak on. "She _really_ likes that cloak," repeated Rincewind. "I mean _really_ likes it. Take it off now before she sees you, is what I mean."

"Watch this," said Conina excitedly. "I've seen one of these before." She pulled the hood up. Instantly, all her discerning features were disguised. It was an odd experience for anyone watching and later they wouldn't have been able to describe her at sword point. The eye seemed to slide over her, as if it wasn't really sure she was there. Her height seemed to vary, and her features were blurred. Rincewind had to fight off the overpowering feeling that he was alone in the clearing.

"Yes, yes," he snapped irritably. "It does that. Come on, take it off before Byrony sees you or there'll be no end to her whining."

"You knew about this?" said Conina incredulously as she stuffed it back into Byrony's rucksack.

"Of course. How do you think Byrony kept sneaking out of the palace in Ankh-Morpork? Well, the first time anyway. She had permission after that."

"I don't really know what you're talking about. And I don't really care," she added, as Rincewind opened his mouth to explain. "I can't believe she kept this quiet from us!"

"Er- I knew already."

"I can't believe you both kept this quiet from us!"

"Look, think about this," said Rincewind reasonably. "What good is a cloak of disguise going to work in a forest where there's _no-one here to see us_?"

"Well, it would be nice to know we had the option."

"The option of one person being a shapeless figure? It's not like it's a cloak of _invisibility_. What do you want us to do? Have one person wear it and the rest of us saunter along with them past the enemy saying 'don't shoot, we're with him'?"

"How does it work?"

"Well…" Rincewind had taken more University exams then he had eaten hot dinners. He had, on the other hand, _passed_ University exams more times then he had spontaneously grown wings and floated into the air. The moral of the story was that he didn't exam well. Despite this, some of it must have sunk in, because he seemed to have a fairly extensive magical knowledge, recognizing various spells, magical artifacts and concepts throughout his escapades. The fact that there was no one from the University handily wandering by at the exact time that this happened always struck Rincewind as being highly unfair.

"Well, it looks to _me,_"he said, taking the cloak back out and holding it up, "like Gideon's Baffling Concealment was cast, the spell was frozen in the air and then woven into the fabric of the cloak. Very difficult.

"Wizards can _do_ that?"

"You'd have to use another spell to freeze it, another to bind it…I'd imagine that someone was paid a _lot_ of money at some point. The cloak then conceals the wearer, covering all major distinguishing characteristics."

"But it doesn't turn them invisible?" she said.

Rincewind rushed to the cloak's defence. "Well, not specifically invisible, but if you were being viewed from afar enemy eyes would just see some person in a cloak. They probably wouldn't even notice you were there. Their eyes would just glaze over you. That's what Gideon's Baffling Concealment does, except this is a _permanent_ spell."

"Well done Rincewind," said a voice behind them. They twisted around and saw Byrony standing there, hands on hips. "A fine and well-informed answer. Pity it's totally wrong."

"Conina took it out! I told her to put it back! I was just explaining! I- what do mean _wrong_?"

Byrony pulled the modulator out of her shirt by its gold chain and gave it a jingle. "Enchantress, remember? Right now this baby is soaking it all up, but a month ago if that cloak was magical it would have been toast. As in I literally would have turned it into toast. I went through a phase," she said by way of explanation.

It wasn't.

"Then…how _does_ it work? Did Vetinari tell you?"

Byrony shrugged. "He had it made, but he has no idea. I've had it since I was six and _I_ have no idea. But I know one thing."

"What's that?"

Byrony snatched the cloak off him and wrapped it around her. "I really, _really_ like this cloak. No touching. Last chance."

Byrony wandered off to get Twoflower, leaving a peeved Rincewind and a bemused Conina behind.

"I _told_ you," said Rincewind waspishly.

"Rincewind?"

"Put it back, I said, but _noooo_-"

"_Rincewind_?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you follow your own advice and _drop it and leave it alone_." Conina stood up, and pulled her sword out of the ground where she had stuck it. "Well, onto the next jewel, I guess. Come on wizard, let's find out what you're made of."

"I know what I'm made of. Flesh, blood and bits that are easily cut off," said Rincewind glumly. "And I am most definitely worried that today I'm going to see _exactly_ that."

Conina swung the sword, causing it to flash in the morning sun. "Oh sure, we could all die at any moment. But you have to admit, it lends a very exciting tone to the day, doesn't it?"

Rincewind growled. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was people who were fearless in the face of death.

It seemed to strike at something absolutely fundamental in him.

* * *

The witches leaned back from the bowl of ink.

"Well!" said Nanny Ogg brightly. "They seem to be gettin' along fine, don't they? Only one more jewel to go. This is cause," she stood up and made her way over to a cabinet, "for celebration. Wine, Esme?"

"No," said Granny Weatherwax. She was still musing over the ink.

"Port? Whiskey? Rum? We gots lots! I tell you, you'd know this was Byrony's house, the amount of drink in the place." Nanny settled into a chair, a generous glass of port in hand. "Looks like I had a good influence on the girl," she said satisfactorily.

"Gytha," said Granny thoughtfully. "You remember that cloak of hers?"

Nanny looked up. "That ol' thing? 'Course I remember it! Wouldn't let go of it, the first time she came to Lance. Wore it all the time. That would be just after her parents died, of course. Why?"

"Oh…no reason."

"Poor mite. Only six years old, she was. Imagine losing your parents, being turfed out of your house and told you can't live there anymore 'cos you'll make it all blow up, all at six years of age. That's scarring, that is."

Granny Weatherwax wasn't listening. Throughout this whole event, she had been uncertain whether or not to trust Vetinari with regards to Byrony's welfare. A part of her had suspicions that he was merely using her for the Greater Good, as it were. Granny disliked people who thought in capitals.

But he had given her that cloak, eh? The cloak she wouldn't let go of? Unbidden, a memory surfaced of a young Byrony, her hair a mass of curls, running around the place scaring the chickens with this long cloak dragging behind her…

"Aren't there big animals in that forest?" asked Nanny suddenly. "When I heard it was forn, I read up about this place in my almanac. 'Fearsome wild beasts', it said."

"I'd imagine so," said Granny, still remembering.

"Oh lor'. Huge hairy things that leap out on travellers. Imagine if they jumped out on Byrony and the rest. We should try and protect them, you know"

"Oh? What happened to no meddling?"

"Well, yes, only it said in the almanac that quite a lot of them are extinct already."

There was no response from Granny, who was still travelling back through the years in her mind.

"Esme?"

Granny pulled back out of the memory. "Yes? What?"

"I'm worried."

Granny raised her eyebrows. "Go on."

"I was talking to Shirleen who said that Darren met Burtram who was in charge of the wicks on the third floor candles who said that-"

Granny waved impatiently. There was something about Nanny Ogg that made people want to open up and be friends with her. Whether it was her easy-going nature or the way her face creased up like an old apple when she smiled, she had the ability to know everything about you within three minutes of conversation. And not only that, she'd also know about your Mam's troubles and have just the ointment for it, not to mention Shirleens experiences with that bloke from around the corner. Nanny Ogg could get a statue to break down and tell her how it _really_ felt about pigeons.

"People're disappearin'," she finished earnestly. "The whole place is on edge!"

Winslow Manor was, of course, stately. It practically came with the deeds for the place. However, it still had that one minor detail which all large buildings such as these seem to have in common: It was a swan.

A swan glides gracefully across tranquil and peaceful waters. It is the metaphor of all that is slim, slender and possibly ballet-like in this world, which does explain why a glorified duck had an entire two hours dedicated to it and why people were willing to watch young girls imitate it's death. (I mean really, would you watch a young woman in a leotard imitate the death of a cow? Possibly that happens somewhere, and it's labeled as 'modern art'.) The point is, however, that while a swan may appear tranquil and graceful on the surface, you can bet that a hell of a lot of hard work is going on right below the surface. Otherwise everything would ground to a halt and sink.

Which is why Granny paused.

"Disappearin' how?"

"Goin' out to do their jobs and not coming back, that's how."

"But this place is huge. I heard lots of people get lost-"

"Yeah, but we're talking about some of the serious old-timers, here! Shirleen was scared stiff!"

"Then why aint the staff leaving?"

"This is their home, they been living here their whole lives. And all those nasty men 'o Rowel's are everywhere too."

Granny nodded. "I know. They're sealing up the passageways. Snooping around. Can't stand people who snoop."

Nanny, whose eyes wandered over to the bowl full of ink, chose not to comment.

Granny seemed to be musing over something, but then she sat up with a small shake of her head as if to clear it.

"People disappearin', you say?"

"You just know those creepy men in those suits're doing it."

Granny smiled grimly. "Well, I can't be having with _that_."

* * *

The funny thing was, it wasn't even dark.

The head Chef hummed to himself as he descended a flight of stairs, happily aware that no one had demanded access to his pantry in, oh gosh, over a _week_ now. This was a good thing too. The pantry was overflowing at this point, what with the amount of meat the games-men insisted upon stuffing it with. One would almost think they were up to something.

He continued down, happily '_pomm-pomming' _away, as he relished the idea of steak with a new type if cinnamon tartar sauce. It was a new idea of Damon's, and one of many. Perhaps it was time to let the lad take over…

Again, his thoughts turned to Byrony, and he wished the protection of any Gods that were paying attention over her. He didn't know what precisely what she was doing but-

There.

A creak to the left.

And the left was a wall…

The head Chef only had a split second to react before a dark figure emerged from a suddenly revealed doorway, and he felt the thin but strong fingers clasp around his throat. They clenched hard, and forced him down on his knees, his normally ruddy face turning puce. As the last breath was forced from his lungs, they pushed him down the staircase, confident in their handiwork.

His last thoughts, as he hurdled down steps which were pleasingly lit in the light of the day, revolved around one thing alone:

_Dear Lord, I hope that soufflé turns out well because Julia isn't as patient as she should be damn you Rowel you can't get _all_ the doors-_

Incidently, it was Juliawho found him a little later.

Her screams echoed out into brightly lit courtyard, and sent the peacocks soaring.

* * *

It was early afternoon, and the Patrician of the most powerful city on the disc was having a glass of diplomatic sherry with the ArchChancellor of one of the most esteemed centers of learning ever established.

Vetinari leaned forward. "It seems that we may have a problem."

"I'll say," grimaced Ridcully, peering into his glass. "Where the devil did you get this stuff?"

"I was not referring to sherry."

"Neither was I. I like sherry. I can drink sherry. This stuff is brown vinegar."

Vetinari coughed, and Ridcully looked up. "Oh, a more serious problem, is it?"

"Rowel is making his move."

"Ah."

"It would seem that he has established to his satisfaction that Byrony is nowhere on the grounds."

"And this would enable him to…do what, exactly?"

"Alert other people to this fact. Make them wonder why. Plant the seeds of discontent. A lot of the people here are going to be very influential in the upcoming Istanzian elections. Who they choose to back will foretell the outcome, not to mention the fact that they need to willingly testify as witnesses to the Princess regaining her claim to the throne with the Orb."

"But when she has the throne, won't she be in power then?"

"No, a mere figurehead. However, she will still run in the elections, making use of the sudden surge of nationalism that will sweep the country once this occurs."

"But…what does this have to do with Byrony?"

"She has previously publically expressed her support for the princess. An unwise act, but we could not foresee that it would lead to this. And, obviously, the princess has been using this opportunity to canvass her cause."

"So…"

"Rowel is now out to ruin Byrony's reputation. His initial plan was to marry her, but I believe that he has come to terms with the impossibility of that plan. If he convinces the nobles here that Byrony is currently on some underhanded propaganda quest for the opposing side, he will gain quite a lot of support. Even more if he can convince them that this whole thing is just some kind of rally to win votes for the princess."

"I see," said Ridcully slowly, swilling the sherry around in its glass. "The Horsemen of Panic, eh? Denial, Misinformation, Rumor and Gossip, I daresay. But, er, what do you want me to do about it?"

Vetinari looked at him over steepled fingers. "Rowel is also planning for their return with the Orb. His…employees are currently roaming the Manor at night, blocking the passageways in the wall. There are spies everywhere, searching for evidence that Byrony is more then just a socialite. They're also disposing of the more loyal of the staff."

"Dispose- oh."

"Indeed. The ruination of Byrony's reputation would have further repercussions. She is essential in many of our oversea alliances. Do you remember when Klatch threatened war last year?"

"Of course!" Ridcully chuckled. "The bloody blighters pulled back pretty fast once they knew that we had all the co-ordinates of their bases!"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "And how do you think we procured those?"

"Well, I- er-"

"The Lady Winslow happened to be traveling through Klatch at the time, and was invited to dine with the Commander of the Klatchian army. Apparently the Commander doesn't keep quite as close an eye on his guest as could be advised. Have you seen her set of lock-picks? She's quite proud of them."

"I have indeed," said Mustrum Ridcully thoughtfully. "How about that, eh?"

"Quite. If word gets out about this, the careful persona she has spent years creating will vanish. Would you be likely to follow a simpering society girl to the bathroom?"

"Well, no. That's a very inappropriate question, by the way."

"How about someone whom you knew to be a spy," continued Vetinari, ignoring him. "Would you have them followed then?"

"Wouldn't trust the damn blighter anyway."

"There you have it. Certain…aspects of Byrony's persona need to be kept from the public eyes."

"No to mention the fact that she could blow us all to smithereens if she didn't have that little box on a chain!" said Ridcully cheerfully. "Well then, I see the problem, but what exactly am I supposed to do about it?"

"The spies need to be removed-"

"Oh, well, no problem there. The Dean's been dying to try another one of those fireballs and-"

"_In such a manner_ that will not alert the guests to the fact that there is anything out of the ordinary occurring."

"Ah. Fireballs are out then."

Vetinari nodded. "I would think," he said firmly, "that fireballs are most definitely out."

* * *

Now it was dark.

Now it was, in fact, the very dead of night.

Craddick viewed the men in front of him with some distaste. There were not as many men as there had been in the beginning, but there were still more then enough to continue according to plan.

(On a side note, those men who hadn't been disposed of by Hinkle, actually fell prey to some rather…ingenious booby traps in hidden in the secret passage-ways they were attempting to block. Byrony's father had been a brilliant inventor, but it was her mother who had the unusual sense of humor. They didn't find one mans head for _days_.)

With a quick jerk of his head, he dismissed them. The scattered quickly and silently, moving like shadows.

Craddick smiled a thin, serpentine smile to himself.

It had begun, and now it was about to end.

He was certainly right about that, though perhaps not in the _exact_ manner he had envisaged.

* * *

Along the dark corridor, there was not a whisper of sound save for the rustling of curtains in front of an open window and occasional movements from behindone of the bedroom doors. At least, not a whisper of sound until a rather large party of grumbling wizards rounded a corner, staffs held at the ready.

Things had happened rather quickly. It wasn't that the prospect of the end of the world was concentrating the wizard's minds unduly, because that is a general and universal danger that people find hard to imagine, much less take upon themselves to stop. But the Patrician was being rather sharp with people, and that is a specific and highly personal danger that people have no problem relating to at all.

The Dean was always his best at times like this. He led the way down the huge hallways, prodding with his staff into dark corners and going 'Hut! Hut!' under his breath.

"What is it we're doing again?" the Lecturer in Recent Runes asked irritably. It was quite late, and the wizards were men who liked their sleep.

"We're to pick off any men we see attemptin' to kill anyone or fiddlin' with the walls," explained the ArchChancellor, while shifting the leather sack he was carrying to a more comfortable position under his arm.

There was a pause.

"So we're lumping carpenters and murderers in the same category now, are we?" asked the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "Never did like them anyway. Too quick with a saw, I always felt."

"No, they're the same people."

"Really?" said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "By jove. A band of murderous carpenters, eh?"

"Is it carpenters who fix walls though? I thought that was masonry."

"Always thought they'd snap. Staring at wood all day long? What kind of life is that?"

"_No_, they're trying to block up the passageways."

"What passageways?"

"Try to keep up Senior Wrangler, there's a good man."

"No talking!" hissed the Dean, and leapt around a corner into the next hallway, staff held protectively in front of him. "Hah!" he screamed, and then looked disappointed.

Some way a little behind, the Librarian, Ponder Stibbons and the Bursar were meandering along, not taking the whole situation very seriously.

The Librarian wasn't taking it seriously because he really didn't have much interest in the current proceedings, and because he too was quite annoyed at being dragged out to wander the halls. Not because he was sleeping, however. The eighth largest library on the Disc was calling to have its recent additions catalogued, and he had been looking forward to it. However, the faculty had decided to take advantage of the one member who could theoretically twist a man's actual head off his actual shoulders using elbow power alone.

Ponder Stibbons wasn't taking things seriously because he rather suspected that the wizards were up against some highly trained professionals, and he rather doubted that they were about to be caught be a bunch of elderly men who squabbled and complained their way down the darkened halls. He was of the opinion that these men would just quietly move away and let the wizards go past. If this was not the case, and they attacked the wizards, then he was well-off at the back of things in any case.

The Bursar wasn't taking things seriously because he was currently occupying another planet. One with fluffy pink clouds and happy little bunnies.

Suddenly, there was a commotion up ahead, with much flurrying of robes, and a sudden bright light. As it died down, Ponder hurried forward.

"Now _listen_, Dean," came the ArchChancellor's voice from ahead, absolutely radiating with reasonableness. "We had a talk about this, you remember? We're to do this quietly and with the minimum amount of fuss."

Ponder peered ahead, and saw that the wizards were clustered around something which was giving off black smoke.

"The minimum amount of fuss Dean, which excludes fire-balls, the screaming of the word 'yo' and any damage in the form of scorch marks to the surrounding area. And I know that this is a very dangerous Dean, and that we're to be on our guard at all times, but could you please explain the manner in which you felt, Dean, that this _perfectly ordinary tapestry posed a threat_?"

Ridcully held up what Ponder now identified as a smoking black rag.

The Dean muttered something inaudible.

"What was that?"

"…saw it move."

"I see. And you didn't think that this was perhaps to do with the fact the there is a window open directly to your left?"

"That's what they _want_ us to think."

"No Dean, that is not what they want us to think, owing to the fact, Dean, the _fact_ that there was _no one behind the tapestry_."

"Oh dear," said Ponder, blinking owlishly as he took in the discernable markings on the fabric. "A Ming dynasty tapestry? They're priceless."

"This one certainly is," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies cheerfully. "I wouldn't pay sixpence for it!"

"Thank you for your contribution, Chair. Gentlemen," Ridcully held up his hands. Or at least, the hand not currently holding a leather sack. "We need to begin to take this seriously. We are here, in the dead of night when innocents are slumbering-"

"Yes, they are," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes meaningfully, in a tone of voice which suggested that he'd prefer to be among them.

"And it is up to us to carry out- did any of you hear that?"

When someone says this, the most sensible thing to do would be to fall immediately silent, so as to hear the sound in question all the better. However, it is an unwritten rule that in these situations, people tend to do exactly the opposite. Naturally, the wizards were no exception.

"What?"

"What noise?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"Yes, well, you're going deaf."

"How dare you! My hearing is as fine as the next man's!"

"Only if the next man is a post."

"I'll have you know that I -"

Ridcully hissed, and waved his arms for them to be quiet. Miraculously, the faculty fell silent, though one or two continued on their barely audible grumbled rants.

Edging forward quietly, he moved slowly around the corner at the end of the hallway and-

"HA- Oh, I'm terribly sorry madam!"

"Mustrum Ridcully," came a voice. All the wizards stood up a little straighter just for hearing it. "You have exactly three seconds to explain what damn-fool thing you're up to," said Granny Weatherwax icily, as she straightened her hat. "And help me pick up these hat-pins while you do."

"Well- that is, my good woman, I believe I have every right to demand the same thing-"

"I aint your good anything," snapped Granny. "What're a bunch of elderly fools doin' wanderin' the halls of this place? Don't you know how easy it is to get lost?"

"Well- we- that is- are _you_ lost?"

"No I aint," said Granny firmly. And this was true. She knew where she was, and it wasn't her fault if nowhere else did. "Now tell me, what do you lot think you're doing?"

"Er- well…" The faculty of the Unseen University watched with horrified fascination as the ArchChancellor tried to untie his tongue. The he suddenly got a grip. "We, madam, have been hired by the Patrician of Anhk-Morpork to take care of some…details. You see, the thing is, the girl who owns this place is _actually_-"

Granny waved a hand irritably. "Yes, yes, I know about Byrony. So you're hunting those men too are you?"

Ridcully's eyebrows shot up so far that they almost disappeared into his hairline. "Yes, we are. What- er, what method have you been using?"

"Gytha and I caught one on the third floor," she sniffed. "They bin killing people, you know that?"

"Yes. And blocking up the passages."

Granny nodded. "Byrony'll need those to get back in with the Orb."

"I say," said someone loudly. They turned to see the entire faculty puffed up to full stature. "What in blazes is going on?" said someone (the Dean) loudly.

"It appears, gentlemen," said Ridcully carefully, "that we have acquired a sudden and valuable asset to this team."

The wizards looked at Granny Weatherwax. Then they looked at the hat. Then they opened their mouths and took deep breaths-

"Wotcher! This place isn't half bendy, eh?" said Nanny Ogg appearing around a corner like some sort of demon full of good-nature. "What's going on here then?"

"We're…_teaming up_ with these gentlemen, 'parently," sniffed Granny. "I only hope they won't be a burden, truth be told."

Nanny nodded gravely, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "Ah well, we'll soldier on, eh?"

At this point, the wizards unfroze. "ArchChancellor," hissed the Senior Wrangler, "I really must protest!"

"Indeed! Witches?! This is a new low for the University and no doubt about it!"

"Atrocious behaviour!"

"Simply despicable. D'you hear they dance around in their drawers?"

"I won't have myself associated with it, I tell you!"

"I shall resign! I shall resign and write a petition! A petition and a hunger strike! A petition, a hunger strike and a-"

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Ridcully. There was a deathly silence. "Gentlemen, these fine ladies are also in the employment of Lord Vetinari. Added to this, I would wager that they know quite a bit more about the situation at hand then _all of you combined_. We are going to work with them, and we are also going to follow their orders. And the next man who complains is going to get my boot down his throat. Does that sound doable?"

There was a heavy silence… and then the hallway was filled with a chorus of assents.

"Absolutely."

"No problem."

"Oh yes, definitely doable."

"Completely viable."

"Viable, right enough."

"That's the stuff to give the troops."

"What is?"

"Well…tinned rations? Decent weapons? Good boots? That sort of thing."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Don't ask _me_. He was the one who started talking about giving stuff to the troops!"

"Will you lot shut up? No one's giving anything to the troops!"

"Oh, shouldn't they have something? I hear the pantry is packed with the result of the ArchChancellors hobbies."

"Look, it was just a figure of speech, all right? I just meant I was fully in agreement. It's just colourful language. Good grief, you surely can't think that I'm suggesting giving stuff to troops at this time of night!"

"Maybe in the morning then?"

Ponder rolled his eyes. It's because their minds are so often involved with deep and problematic matters, he told himself, that their mouths are allowed to wander around making a nuisance of themselves.

"_Right_," said Granny, authority reverberating off the word. "You lot, pay attention. At this point in time, there's really only one place that needs to protectin'. Up on the fourth floor, there's a balcony overlooking a mural on the ground floor set into the wall on the outside. T'aint a mural at all, tis a secret door. They're trying to block that off tonight."

"Wha- How do you know all that?"

A hat-pin gleamed in the light of the moon as Granny held it up. She smiled evily. "It's amazin' what you can get people to tell you, aint that right Gytha?"

Nanny nodded. "Not _quite_ how I'd go about it, but he spilled the beans, sure enough."

"Well," said Ridcully uncertainly, "clearly we have no time to lose! To the fourth floor!"

It really must be pointed out, that the Dean did rather have his heart set on blasting a fireball at a miscreant, and was, in fact, covered in dark-green face paint for the very occasion. This was the reasoning behind his _overwhelming_ urge to arrive at the scene first. So… in a very …_interesting_ fashion, the wizards came to a halt at the balcony on the fourth floor.

"Aaargh!"

"Dean, let go!"

"I can't breath!"

The Dean struggled to the front and aimed his staff at the chiffon curtains, that were blowing gently on the breeze.

"Say the word Alpha One, and I'll blast the situation to smithereens."

Ridcully wandered up and patted him on the shoulder. "I think that'll be all Dean, thank you." He waggled his eyebrows at Granny. "Good chap, but gets a bit over-enthusiastic, you know?"

Granny gave him a Look, and pushed forward out onto the balcony. She took a sharp intake of breath which hissed in the still night. "There," she said quietly. "Look at 'em."

They all leaned over the balcony to survey the scene presented before them. At the very bottom of the outside wall, there was a swarm of black-clad men clamouring against the stone. They were like insects, beetles or ants, crowding around the mural, their long pale fingers gripping, prying and pulling. There was at least twenty, and all held some form of weapon, though some of these were, in fact, the crowbars they were planning on using as a last resort if the door couldn't be opened. In reality, that was unlikely to happen. These men knew what they were doing. It would only be a matter of time before they found their way in.

"By jove," said the Senior Wrangler nervously. "How're we going to deal with that lot? _In a completely non-flammable manner_," he added hastily as the Dean opened his mouth hopefully.

"Ahah!" said Ridcully, rasing a finger aloft.

"By gor'," said Nanny fervently, staring apprehehnsively at the scene below. "You better be able to back that up."

"Er- I can? We do in fact have, dear ladies, a plan prepared which deals with this eventuality."

He fished a pair of gloves out of his hat.

"What is _that_?" Nanny asked, as Ridcully pulled a bottle out of the leather sack he had been toting.

"Wow-Wow Sauce. Nicely matured, too."

The wizards spread like an opening flower. One moment, they were gathered around Ridully, the next they were standing close to various items of heavy furniture which, in this house, comprised mostly of very uncomfortable chairs.

"Finest condiment known to man," continued Ridcully cheerfully. "A happy accompaniment to meat, fish, fowl, eggs and many types of vegetable dishes. It's not safe to drink it when the sweat's still condensing on the bottle, though..." He peered at the bottle and then rubbed at it, causing a glassy, squeaky noise. "On the other hand," he said brightly, "we're not really looking for something safe, are we?"

"That's dangerous?" said Granny. "We're carryin' around something that could blow up in your hands?!"

"Oh no, I assure you, we are completely safe."

"If it's completely safe," said Nanny in a very intense tone of voice, "then why are all those wizards backing away slowly and trying to climb under things?"

"Ah…well, of course it's safe, but sometimes…well, you never know."

"_Sometimes_ you know," said Granny, in warning tones. "In fact, I think I know quite a lot that I didn't used to know. It's amazin' what you do end up knowing, I sometimes think. I often wonder what new things I'll know."

"Well, you never know."

"Mustrum Ridcully, you tell me about that sauce this instant!"

"Look, these fellows just seem to have taken against it for some reason," said the ArchChancellor defensively.

"Yes, I prefer a sauce that doesn't mean you mustn't make any jolting movements for half an hour after using it," muttered the Dean from under a coffee table.

"And that can't be used for breaking up small rocks," said the Senior Wrangler.

"Or getting rid of tree-trunks," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"And which isn't actually outlawed in three countries," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

"I wouldn't mind tryin' some of that," said Nanny cheerfully.

"We're just using it on those blighters down there," said Ridcully irritably. "Not that this bottle wouldn't be totally safe if, for example, placed on your average dinner table just in time for the main course."

"Well," said Granny, peering over the side of the balcony, "If you're throwing it, you had better throw it soon. I think they got enough for a crowbar-hold."

Nodding, Ridcully threw the bottle.

There was a crash as the Chair of Indefinite Studies and the Senior Wrangler tried to get under the same table.

The bottle flew majestically through though air, turning over and over, leaking bright red condiment in its wake.

It landed amongst a rather perplexed group of Rowel's men, who took one (completely ineffecient) step backwards when faced with the threat of a shattered bottled of spicy flavoured condiment, which was, for some reason, bubbling.

"Whose bloody idea was this?" sneered one, as the entire group took that all-too-important step forwards…

And then…

Well, a written description hardly does it justice.

There was a sound that was rather akin to the auditory experience of a dog sneezing backwards.

And then…

Well, it had been quite a large bottle.

Not only did the _sauce_ explode, but the ground _underneath_ the sauce explded, and then burning flecks of the condiment flew through the air, sizzling when coming into contact with any exposed skin

Looking up from the shrieking, writhing figures below them, Granny Weatherwax stared at Ridcully.

"You eat that?"

"It tastes very fine on cold pork, I'll have you know."

"What'll we do with them that's left?" asked Nanny, indicating those men below who still had their heads, functioning body parts, the skin on their face or the full use of their eyes.

"I feel, ArchChancellor, that at this time it would be prudent to-"

"_No damn fireballs, Dean_!"

"Well then what shall we use?" asked the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Ridcully stroked his beard, and there was a gleam in his eye. Anyone who knew him, knew that he was a hunting man.

"Oh, pretty much anything else, I should imagine."

* * *

They had procured the final jewel, and spirits were light amongst the members of what Byrony insisted referring to as 'Team Amazing'.

They had climbed down into the cave of the fire-ruby, and faced eagles which seemed to soar through the air made of fire and pillars of flame which inconveniently shot from the ground at whatever bit you happened to be standing on. This was nothing, however, to the fact that Rincewind had climbed through those pillars of flame to the top of the small hill in the centre of the cavern and succeeded in snatching the glistening ruby from its pedestal.

He had whimpered constantly throughout, of course, but Byrony and Twoflower insisted that this didn't detract from the daring deed. Conina had declined to comment.

They had all emerged tired, sweaty and covered in soot, except for Rincewind who had been tired, sweaty, _singed_ and covered in soot. Interestingly, he had burnt off his eyebrows again which had just begun to grow back after the ill-fated game of Exclusive-Possession.

After that, it was the group consensus that they deserved a small break to refresh themselves before the continued on their way to thwart the maniac in his attempt to achieve disc-domination.

"Ye gods," groaned Conina, toweling her hair dry as she came back from the waterfall. "I cannot _wait_ until I can have a real bath again."

"I know," agreed Byrony, "that was- ow, Rincewind! _Owww_!"

"Well, if you'd only stop _squirming_," said Rincewind irritably. He was seated cross-legged behind Byrony, who was clutching her knees, and attempting to drag a comb through her wet hair. "How am I supposed to get the tangles if you keep leaning away?"

Byrony clutched her head. "Okay! It's fine now! You can stop!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you've a knot the size of an apple back here. Hold still-"

"_Owww_!"

Conina threw the towel onto a branch for it to dry. "I mean, that waterfall was _freezing_ and washing in streams is so awkward…"

Twoflower and Rincewind nodded solemnly. They agreed it was awkward, but not in the way that Conina meant. It's a universal law that women everywhere take longer in the bathroom then men, and it would seem that when the bathroom in question is a stream somewhere in a giant forest, this is no exception. Twoflower and Rincewind had to hang around, shuffling their feet and making the smallest talk imaginable while waiting for the ladies to return.

"_Owww_!!"

"Stay _still_!"

"Aaargh, you're pulling bits _out_!"

"You know, Byrony," said Conina thoughtfully. "Your hair would be a lot easier to manage if I gave it a trim. What do you think? I could just take a little off."

Byrony looked at Conina.

She looked at Conina's sword.

"I was lying," she told Rincewind. "This doesn't hurt a bit."

"Very glad to hear it."

Conina scowled. "Why does no one want to get their hair cut?!"

"Cut by _you_," supplied Rincewind helpfully, as he yanked the comb through the knots. "No one wants to get their hair cut by _you_."

"Business not going too well?" asked Twoflower sympathetically.

"It should pick up a bit," she said, avoiding his eyes. "We have some bills… actually we have a _lot_ of bills… But I suppose that won't be much of a problem. Especially now that it seems I've come into some _inheritance_," she added acidly.

"I shouldn't think there's much call for the Empress to cut hair, your majesty."

Conina rolled her eyes. "I suppose not. You should have seen Nijel when I told him about it. He almost choked on a legume."

There was a pause in which everyone stared at her.

"That's a vegetable," she explained.

"Oh," said Twoflower carefully. "That…makes more sense."

"Does it?" asked Rincewind.

Conina picked up her sword. "Well, I guess I'll scout on ahead for a bit. Just to see what's coming up. What should I be looking for."

"Oh, _ow_ some sort of _ow_ cave with a blocked entrance," said Byrony, vaguely waving a hand to her left. "Don't even try looking for it I say. Try to spot it using your peripheral vision."

"This whole legend thing is fun, isn't it?" said Twoflower happily. He was sorting through his iconographs, slotting them into sections in a book.

"No really," said Byrony enthusiastically. "I bet that if you close your eyes and go walking through the- _Ow_! _Rincewind, you're tearing off my scalp_!"

Conina took the opportunity to exit quickly.

She wandered along through the forests, listening to the wind shake the trees and the distant sound of bird-song, relishing the quiet.

She hadn't been kidding when she had said that there were bills. She and Nijel were barely breaking even at the moment. For some reason, no one wanted to become patrons of 'Harebut's Hero Supplies and Hairdressers.' She couldn't think why. And they did have bills. Lots of bills, because Nijel couldn't, no matter how hard she tried to convince him, get his head around the fact that heroes thought the word credit meant 'free'.

Becoming an Empress would solve a lot of problems…but she didn't _want_ to be an Empress… She wanted to be a hairdresser.

There was a fairly large difference between the two professions.

Worrying to herself, and completely absorbed in her own thoughts, Conina wandered through the forest. After a while she came upon a clearing, and stopped. She didn't walk into it, she just stayed in the shadows observing.

After a while, she returned to the camp with a thoughtful look on her face. The other three were packed and ready to go, and Byrony was helping Twoflower strap his completely non-magical rock to the outside of his rucksack.

"Ready to go, Conina?" she asked.

"No enraged mother bears up ahead, are there?" Twoflower added, chuckling.

Conina paused. "Not…exactly," she said slowly.

Rincewind's head jerked up.

"What do you mean _not exactly_?!"

* * *

The four crouched behind the bushes on the edge of a fairly large clearing. In the clearing was (in no order of importance) a swarm of butterflies, a very large cave with two stone and ornately carved doors blocking the entrance, about forty or so heavily armed men- each of whom resembled a troll in leather and some daffodils.

"I believe," Rincewind said slowly, "that at one point I mentioned getting jumped out on and stabbed? You owe me a dollar, Winslow."

"We didn't get jumped on!"

"Yes, but the distinct possibility has presented itself, hasn't it? Hah, _you_ said that this wouldn't happen, I recall."

"Do you ever get tired of being right, Rincewind?"

"It's been less of a treat lately, I'll admit it."

"You know, you're so scared of dying that you're not really living."

"Yes, well, life is constantly trying to kill me. As are other people, gods, stones and some types of flowers."

"Enough," hissed Conina. "Get a grip you two! Byrony, do you know these people?"

"Know them?" she snorted. "I spent my teenage years _despising_ them. They're Rowel's private army, if you don't mind. He's probably sent them to stop us."

"Oh no," said Twoflower. "That means he knows we're here!"

Rincewind threw his hands up to heaven. "And that he knew we were coming here longer then _we_ knew we were coming here! Or at least," he added acidly, "longer then _some_ of us knew we were coming here." He was still smarting over Twoflower being more aware of the quest's proceedings then he was.

Conina unsheathed her sword grimly, staring at the large group of men. "Okay, the plan is-"

"There's a plan?"

"I didn't see a plan."

"We have a _plan_?"

"_The plan is_," continued Conina loudly, "to dispose of this squad in as efficiently and quietly as possible. We don't need them to raise the alarm and attract other groups of armed men to their defence."

"No we don't need that at _all_," agreed Rincewind fervently.

"Glad you feel the same," said Conina. "So why don't you get Twoflower get over to a corner somewhere out of harms way?"

"Good thinking," said Byrony, as she raised her sword to shoulder height. "Because guess what's coming this way in about three minutes?"

Twoflower began to protest, but Rincewind clamped a hand over his mouth. "Er- I realise that you two ladies have more experience in hand-to-hand combat then I could shake a stick at but-" They waited politely. "But could you be, you know, _careful_?"

After a short and heavy pause, Byrony held up her sword. "Rincewind, do you see this?"

Rincewind nervously eyed the treacherously sharp yet notched blade that was inches away from his Adam's apple. "Is that a trick question?"

"Who do you think is going to come out of this missing an essential limb or two," said Byrony reasonably. "Us or them?"

Rincewind, who had overcome his sudden and unexplained need to be manly, was immediately drenched in a stealth attack of memory, in which Conina reduced a ship-full of pirates to pulpy masses, Byrony shot a cross-bow at anyone that looked sideways at her and Rincewind stood in the background looking perfectly content with the fact that he wasn't involved.

"Good luck!" Rincewind called cheerfully as he dragged Twoflower over to a nice, shady spot that was out of range of the two very-much-ready-to-fight teams. The fact that one of those teams was made up of two young women and the other of about a dozen angry men armed to the teeth did nothing to even up the odds.

Conina and Byrony sauntered out grinning to meet the leather clad hoard of men.

Yes, right, fine. Rincewind had been worried about them for a nano-second or two. Well, if they were as good as they used to be, then he wasn't going to have anything to worry about for much longer…

The two sides squared up, the girls on one side and the men on the other. Once they caught sight of them, the soldiers began to grin and leer. Once they caught sight of their weapons, however, they began leering uncertainly, as if waiting for the punch line of a difficult joke. One of them bellowed something in that complicated language the military had, and then they were suddenly all at arms and coaxing as many metallic sounding noises out of their cross-bows as they could.

"I think we're meant to be scared," Byrony whispered loudly to Conina. "Would it hurt their feelings if we weren't scared?"

"We know why you're here," said one of them loudly. "We're going to let you get the Orb and then you're going to give it to us."

"You know, I just can't see that happening," said Byrony, honestly puzzled. "Why would we do that?"

"Because then we wouldn't have to _hurt_ you," he grinned. "And I'd be lying if I said we didn't want to."

"Calm down, calm down," said Conina irritably. "No-one's going to get hurt. Metaphorically, at least."

"Hehehe," chuckled the most heavily scarred man. Given that this wasn't an actual army, none of the men had pips or indications of command. It was probably safe to go by scarring, which meant that this guy had to be the leader. "I like a girl with spirit!"

There was a very tense silence.

The Byrony tilted her head in Conina's direction. "Did he actually just say…"

"I think he did," she replied, not taking her eyes off the men before her.

Then, after a beat, they both burst into peals of laughter.

"If I …had a dollar…for every time!" gasped Byrony, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. Conina couldn't even talk, she was laughing so hard. She just leaned on Byrony's shoulder, clutching her side with the hand that wasn't wielding an instrument of death.

The men just stood there, casting furtive glances at their leader every now and then, who was slowly turning the most remarkable shade of puce.

"Oh gods…say it again, go on," Byrony told the scarred man in between gales of laughter. "Say it one more time." In reply, he slowly drew his sword.

It didn't really have the desired expect. Instead of abruptly ceasing to laugh and becoming terrified at the imminent death that they were now facing, the two women merely made feeble attempts to curtail their hysteria so as not to hurt his feelings.

As their peals of laughter tapered off into giggles, they too hefted up their swords. "We are taking the Orb," said Conina carefully, a sly grin still lingering on her face. "And then when we leave, we'll be doing it over your dead bodies."

"Damn straight," the man growled. "We're gonna-"

"No," Conina interrupted impatiently. "I mean we are _literally_ going to be doing it over your dead bodies."

At this moment in time, Twoflower tugged frantically at Rincewind's robe. "We're not going to let them fight are we? I mean, two young ladies against all these men?!"

"I know," said Rincewind, mesmerised by the scene unfolding in front of him. "It hardly seems fair, does it?"

There was a change in the air, and a definite feeling that something was about to happen.

Conina nudged Byrony. "Shall we get on with it then? You have the honours."

Byrony waved her sword around a bit, and then cheerfully issued what was possibly the most casual war-cry in the history of the Disc:

"All right then lads, bring it on!"

Twoflower looked on in horror as Byrony and Conina squared up to the leather-clad hulking mountains. "But it will be a terrible slaughter!" he cried.

"'Fraid so," said Rincewind ruefully. "Mint? I always have some in my pocket you know. It's strange. Never know why. Probably there's some mystic rule that goes with it."

And then…

They attacked.

The fighting was a fast and furious affair, but it really was quite one-sided. The two women worked with intense precision, planting debilitating kicks, hacks to throats and punches that nearly sent the nose on the receiving end out the back of the skull, not to mention the whizzing, decapitating things that were their swords. All activity on the part of the soldiers, (no matter how hard the punch was thrown, no matter how quickly the blade flew past) was wasted, as the target was always- without any obvious effort- not there. At first, their opponents started off grinning at the temerity of these young girls attacking them, and then rapidly passed through various stages of puzzlement, doubt, concern and abject gibbering terror as they apparently became the centre of a flashing, tightening circle of steel.

"You know," said Rincewind, speaking loudly to be heard over the screams. "Is it just me or has this whole thing been too easy?"

"What?" said Twoflower distractedly.

"Don't you think this should have been a little more difficult? I mean, these are Rowel's guards, they're not actually here to protect the Orb. If they hadn't been here, we could have just wandered in."

"Uh, well this is a legend so…Hey, look at what she's doing with his-"

"I'm just saying this because that weird priestess thought that she was hiding her god, you know? You'd think she would have made a bit of effort."

"What? Eh? Oh…I suppose so. We had to get the stones didn't we? Maybe it was information that was only to be passed down to the worthy. She… she's going to be killed. She's going to be killed! She's going to be- How did she do that?"

"That's what I'm saying! It should only have been passed to the people who were supposed to find the Orb, so why do _we_ have it?" It was no use. Twoflower was slack-jawed and wide-eyed, watching Conina and Byrony dispense with the last of the soldiers. Sighing, Rincewind turned to watch the fight as well. Though normally he wouldn't have stayed around in an area where two dangerous groups were fighting for a big clock, he supposed there was a type of grace to the whole thing. It was like a dance really.

Albeit a dance with more then the regular amount of sharp things.

At last, all that was left were two panting figures standing amongst lots of fallen shapes.

Twoflower began to clap and Rincewind, rolling his eyes, followed suit. "Stay where you are!" begged the tourist, fumbling with his bag. "I have to get a picture of the two of you!"

Conina was peering at her arm. "I'm out of practise. I think one scratched me."

"Move together there," instructed Twoflower. "Right beside that pile of soldiers."

Byrony flung one arm around Conina's shoulders, the other still holding the sword propped on her shoulder. "Say 'Orb'!"

Laughing, Conina hooked an arm around her waist. "No, no, say 'Easy!'"

"How about 'violence is the answer'?" suggested Rincewind.

"Who knew that the two of us would actually end up friends?" said Byrony wonderingly, ignoring him.

"Oh, I always knew you two would get on like a house on fire," said Rincewind firmly.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Screams, flames, people running for safety…"

Twoflower pressed the button and took the picture of the two laughing women.

"That'll be one for a frame, I think," he said happily, waiting for the glass to come out of the slot in the front of the machine.

"Hey, what are these?" Conina was holding up something she had picked off the body of a soldier. It looked like a large pistol crossbow, steely and sleek.

"Horsebows?" said Byrony fervently, like a child opening a wonderful Hogswatch present. "That, my dear Conina, is what you get for leading an honest and sober life."

"All the guards have them."

"Evil looking things," said Twoflower, eying the weapon nervously.

"Let's take two each!" said Byrony enthusiastically. She was now holding one in each hand and making happy little _pewpewpew _noises.

"Not a chance," said Rincewind firmly. "This is like you're bloody crossbow all over again."

"But this is precision! This is modern! I swear, I'll hardly shoot anything at all!"

"Rincewind is right," said Conina. "For once, anyway," she added.

"Hey!"

"We don't need these. We're almost done and they would just weigh us down on the way home."

"_You_ may not need one, but I feel that having on of these would really validate me emotionally."

"Put it down."

"But-"

"What I don't understand is," said Twoflower suddenly, "if they had those bows then why didn't they shoot us where we stood?"

"They wanted us alive, I guess," said Byrony, casting longing glances at the bow in question. "You heard that guy, they wanted us to get the Orb and then they were going to take it from us."

"No, Twoflower has a point," said Rincewind. "For once anyway," he added smugly.

"Hey!"

"Rincewind, that was mean."

"I agree, Rincewind that was uncalled for. Apoligise to Twoflower."

"What?! You- he- fine! I'm sorry! But he _does_ have a point. Why not kill us, loot the jewels from our quickly cooling corpses and use them to access the cave while we slowly begin to rot in the background?"

"Nice imagery," said Byrony thoughtfully.

"I give such things a lot of thought."

"Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out." Suddenly Byrony pounced on the body of a young solider and gripped the back of his neck.

Conina looked shocked. "Byrony, what are you-" The corpse screamed.

"Hah!" she yelled, pinching harder. "I thought I saw you move! The old 'playing dead on the battlefield trick', eh?"

"Please don't kill me," the soldier whimpered. "You stabbed me in the leg!"

"Oh good. Means you can't run away." He squeaked in fear and she pinched harder again, accessing a nerve in his neck which sent sharp shooting pain down through all the pressure points in his system. "Now, you're going to help us, yes? Just say aaargh."

"_Aaaargh_!"

"Good man." She let go, and the soldier slumped back, panting. "Why did you need us to get the Orb?"

"Doesn't work…" He was passing out with pain. Byrony slapped him.

"Go easy!" protested Twoflower.

"Ten minutes ago he came at her with a broadsword," said Conina witheringly. "_He_ didn't look like he was planning on going easy."

"Hit him again," suggested Rincewind.

"It only works for you four!" the soldier said hurriedly, aware of the pain that his not-too-distant-future could hold. "The four of you! The cave only opens for you! Don't hit me again!"

"It…really? Because we were the ones who first touched the stones or-"

"No, just opens for…you…" He passed out.

There was a silence.

"Hit him again," said Rincewind firmly.

"Nah," she said, poking the unconscious man's face. "Leave him alone. Guy got stabbed in the leg and intravenously tortured all in the one day. He deserves some rest."

"What if he wakes up and goes back to Rowel?"

"We could kill him now," said Conina evenly. "That would take care of it."

Twoflower gasped. "That's- you can't do that!"

"Why not?" she asked calmly. Rincewind and Byrony glanced worriedly at each other.

Twoflower spluttered. "Well for one thing, he's injured!"

"Right. Like Byrony said, he's an easy target."

"Ah." Byrony held up a finger. "Actually, I said he couldn't run away."

"Right, so he's an easy target."

"No, so he can't run to tell Rowel. Conina we don't _have_ to kill him."

"We killed the rest of them!"

"She has a point," Rincewind murmured. Byrony elbowed him in the ribs.

"He's a liability!" Conina continued. "I was _hired_ to fulfill this mission and damn you, I won't let this-"

"Talk some sense into her," Byrony hissed to Rincewind as Conina raged on.

He gave her a Look. "People holding large bits of sharp metal can see sense whenever they feel like it. It's not my place to intrude, I'm sure."

Twoflower coughed. "You know, I have the answer to this problem."

"You do?"

"Yes I do…" He rummaged in one of the bags. "Now where did I see…Tah-dah!" Twoflower straightened up, holding a length of rope.

"Excellent," said Byrony happily. "Come on, let's tie him up."

"I am not happy about this," Conina stated, as Rincewind and Byrony dragged the soldier over to a tree, and Twoflower followed. "He could get loose."

"Relax. Rincewind knows lots of knots."

"Yes," said Rincewind vaguely, propping the young man against the tree. "It's a wonderful skill I picked up during all those times I was incarcerated."

"No, _I'll_ tie him up," said Conina, taking the rope from Twoflower. "There's no way I am even letting the chance that he might escape occur."

"Fine, fine…"

"And we're tying him up behind those trees."

"Whatever you say…"

"We can't risk him seeing how we get into the cave."

"No problem, even though he can't see in any way by reason of being unconscious…"

"Rincewind, stop being patronising or so help me I will do something very painful."

"Painful for you or to me?"

"I'll give you one guess."

"Ah."

They tied up the soldier's body to a tree just a little inside the forest, so that there was a nice big oak right in his line of vision. Conina tied some of the knots so tight that he started going purple until Twoflower made her loosen them again. When they were finished, they made their way back to the clearing.

"Well, now that we've done that," continued Rincewind, edging away from a body. "We need to-" Suddenly, Byrony collapsed onto the ground with a curse. "What's wrong?! What's wrong?!"

"Nothing," she panted, her teeth gritted. "Just- my ankle. The fight… didn't really help. It's fine, it's fine."

"Your ankle? The dislocated one?"

"No, Rincewind the other one. Of course the dislocated one!" Gingerly, she stood up, and they all saw how her leg shook violently when taking her weight.

"Uh," said Twoflower. "Maybe we should-"

"I'm fine!" she snapped. "Come on, we need to look at the cave." Limping, she made her way across the clearing, and began inspecting its entrance for a way in.

"Stubborn, isn't she?" said Conina mildly.

"You," said Rincewind fervently, "do not know the half of it."

"Can't you say something to her?" asked Twoflower worriedly.

"Oh, of _course_, because she listens to _everything_ I say-"

"Calm down," said Conina. "Look, leave her alone for now. The sooner we find the Orb, the sooner she'll get medical attention."

"Conina has a point," said Twoflower. "It can't be that bad if she can still walk, anyway."

"I suppose…"

Just then, Byrony's voice rang across the clearing. "Maybe everyone should take a look at this..." She sounded strange.

They all followed her over to the front of the cave, its giant stone entrance looming over them, very much sealed. But there was something…

Twoflower reached out and pressed his hand against the rock. "Is- is this metal?"

Byrony nodded. "Yes. Yes it is. Got it in one. The entire entrance to the cave is metal. _It's not even a real cave_."

Conina looked shocked. "The- then what is it? A decoy? Have we come all this way for nothing?"

"I don't know…look at this." She pointed to a bronze plaque bolted to the face of the 'rock'. It was written in a language that seemed to be made up mainly of dots and squiggles, and there were five small hollows underneath the words, the one at the centre slightly bigger then the rest.

"What does that say?" asked Twoflower nervously.

"I," said Byrony, "have no idea. None. No clue in the slightest. Rincewind, on the other hand, knows just about every language there ever is. The ones worth speaking, anyway. Rincewind?"

They all waited for a moment as Rincewind peered at the language carved into the bronze.

"Sodomy non sapiens," muttered Rincewind under his breath.

"What does that mean?"

"Means I'm buggered if I know. I don't think I've ever- wait, hang on…"

He moved in closer to the writing. Byrony was right; he did have a gift for languages. He could, for example, scream for mercy in nineteen languages, and just scream in another forty-four. He could speak Chimeran, Trob, High Borogravian, Vanglemesht, Sumtri and even Black Oroogu, a language with no nouns and only one adjective, which is obscene. He was definitely sure that he had never come across this language before, but it seemed to be a sort of blend of lots of different ones. That one was the Agatean for butterfly/travel, and _that_ one was Klatchian, he was sure…and the whole thing looked like it was supposed to rhyme, so if you take that into account then _that_ symbol probably meant tall…

The others watched silently as Rincewind, concentrating furiously and with his tongue poking out one side of his mouth, scribbled on a piece of paper with a stub of pencil he had found in his pocket. Slowly… slowly… he deciphered what was written on the plaque.

"Do you think he's-" began Conina.

"Shhh!" hissed Byrony.

Finally, Rincewind stepped back, scanning what he had written.

"Do you understand it?" asked Twoflower worriedly. Rincewind's expression was almost as strange as Byrony had sounded when she realised the cave was metal.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, it's just a bit…it's kind of…maybe you should all just… look."

He held out the paper, and they all gathered around.

_There will be a man with eyes of glass,_

_There will be a warrior, strong and tall,_

_One will be one who travels alone_

_And one will be one who shall lose it all._

_These are the ones who deserve this task_

_These are they who shall bring it back._

Silence.

"Oh dear," said Twoflower faintly.

"Is this about _us_?" Conina exploded. "Is this a thousand-year-old prophecy about _us_?"

"I don't- I mean- well, it looks like it, doesn't it?" said Byrony, nonplussed. "Twoflower has glasses. Conina you're the warrior…"

"But both you and Rincewind travel the Disc," said Twoflower squinting at the page. "I wonder which of you is going to lose it all?"

Rincewind shivered. "See? Told you."

"I can't believe you translated it. Rincewind, that was actually quite brilliant," said Byrony admiringly.

"Well, it was nothing really…"

"Can we please stay with the situation at hand?" Conina asked, fuming. "I am not comfortable with this!"

"I think it's a good thing," said Twoflower mildly. "It's _fate_. It means we're _meant_ to take the Orb. The priestess wouldn't want to stop us if we were _meant_ to take it." The suddenly seemed to dawn on him. "Wait…I'm in this- that means I really _am_ a legend! Oh my…"

"He's exactly right Conina," said Byrony firmly. "This is a _good_ thing."

"If you say so," she sighed, as Byrony began to open the pouch on her belt.

"All we need to do is to put the jewels in those little grooves and we'll see the entrance," she said triumphantly.

"Er-" said Rincewind.

"See? There's little symbols for the elements over them, so everyone go in front of one."

"Is it just me or-"

"We had better do it at the same time," said Conina. "You never know."

Byrony nodded. "Good idea. On three then. Here, everyone take their stone."

They all shuffled into position.

"Has anyone else seen-" started Rincewind.

"Ready? Now!" In one movement, Conina, Twoflower, Rincewind and Byrony all pushed the jewels into the slots designed to accommodate them.

They all stood quickly back and looked expectantly at the giant doors…

Which…absolutely failed to rumble open impressively in every respect imaginable.

"Damn," muttered Byrony. "What else are we supposed to do?"

"That's what I've been _trying_ to tell you." said Rincewind impatiently. "There's another space, look." He pointed to a slightly larger space in the middle of the four jewel-filled ones. "We need another jewel!"

Everyone turned and looked at Byrony, who was staring at the space with her mouth open.

"Byrony?" said Conina warningly.

"Uh…" She began laughing nervously. "So guess what?"

* * *

The Princess of Istanzia chewed her lip anxiously as she surveyed the maps. "And if he gains control of Betrek, what then?"

The commander of her army sighed. "He'll have the full force of Istanzia's military on his side at this point, so I wouldn't think it would take too much effort for him to extend his control over Ushistan and Smale. After that, it is but one small step to the invasion of Omnia. Once he has that power behind him, an attack on Ank-Morpork is almost inevitable. And one he has Anhk-Morpork-"

"He has the disc," she finished grimly. "All bases of trading, the main currency capital…not to mention the busiest port on the Disc."

"Yes, you majesty."

Her pale face flushing with anger, Princess Emmaline pushed the red hair from her face. "Vetinari knows Rowel cannot come to power," she stated firmly. "He has as much riding on this as we do, gentlemen. I have full confidence in the team he deployed to find the Orb."

There was silence, in the small room, which was mostly filled with the table full of maps and figurines. The men in there shuffled nervously in front of the piercing and powerful gaze of the young woman before them.

"And even if they fail," she continued, with a steely eye on each of them, "there is still the fact that this is an _election_, in which I have every chance of winning."

No one seemed to be able to tell her that telling people that they were toiling away in the fields for nothing wasn't exactly winning her votes, not to mention the fact that she was so utterly, utterly _intense_…

And not one of the military leaders wished to point out that in some cases, Rowel could actually seem quite charming from a distance and had, in fact, won over quite a lot of the electorate…

But she didn't need to be told that.

She all ready knew.

Emmaline slumped over the maps, her thin arms supporting her shaking frame. "This- this cannot happen," she choked, as her finger stabbed at a red-filled map of a Rowel-ruled world. "It will be a time of- of _blood_ and clockwork and metal and glass-cases and it _cannot_ happen." She looked up, her pale face marred with red blotches of fury. "_Do you understand me_?"

Dumbfounded, her generals nodded.

"Good. Then we are agreed. We will fight, what ever the outcome." She stood tall, dawing upon a thousand years of heriditary pride. "Whatever the outcome, we shall fight for the people."

And she began to roll up the maps.

* * *

It was depressing, thought Rincewind. The entire situation was depressing.

It had transpired that Byrony had no idea where the final jewel was supposed to be, nor even that there had been fifth jewel in the first place.

They had stood around looking shocked until she had said: "Well bugger this for a lark!" and proceeded to saw open the metal side of the cave using her sword. Inside, to their amazement, there had been all manner of joints and levers and mechanics.

Now she was on her back half-way stuck into the hole she had created with an assortment of tools laid out on the grass beside her. Every so often clanking and angry muttering would issue forth.

Conina, Twoflower and Rincewind were sprawled out on the grass a little further away. Conina was blowing a dandelion, Twoflower was sorting his iconographs and Rincewind was wondering how long it was until lunch time.

"What will we do," asked Twoflower suddenly, "if she can't get it to open?"

"Panic?" said Rincewind hopefully.

"We'll go back to the manor," said Conina firmly. "We'll need to warn Vetinari and help stop Rowel from achieving disc-domination."

A little time went by. The cursing became louder.

"She doesn't sound like she's having much success," said Twoflower uncertainly. "What's she trying to do again?"

"She's trying to get the mechanics to do what they would have done if we had the right jewel to slot in."

"Right. And how's she doing that?"

"Well, it _sounds_ as if she's trying to do that by hitting it repeatedly with a wrench, but I'm sure I don't know."

"Maybe we should see if she needs help," said Rincewind wearily, as there was a loud clang and a yelp.

They got up and meandered over to the pair of legs sticking out of the hole. "Byrony?" called Conina. "Are you all right in there?" The sound of metal being scraped together issued forth.

"Bugger off! This is hard enough as it is, and-" There was a scraping noisel ike a gear being forced into life. "Wait! I have it! Quick! Give me a three-eighths Gripley! Quick!"

They all looked at each other. Conina shrugged and Twoflower looked bewildered. Rincewind looked down. A variety of different tools were scattered around the grass. He selected a piece of shaped metal at random and placed it in Byrony's impatient outstretched hand. It was drawn inside.

"Wha- I said a _Gripley_! This isn't a-" there was the tearing, crinkling noise of metal giving away- "my thumb, my thumb you made me-" and the sound of metal being very distressed indeed filled the clearing "-now the ratchet spring's snapped off the trunnion armature-" there was a clang "-aaargh, aaargh, aaargh, that was my head-" then a loud thump. "Aaargh!"

Then everything went quiet.

"Uh," said Twoflower, watching Byrony's legs writhe in pain. "I think you gave her the wrong one"

"You think?" said Conina drily.

There was a series of thumps and twanging noises as the top half of the human extricated itself from the machinery. Byrony was streaked with oil down one side and rose like an angry wraith.

"_This_," she hissed, waving the silver twisty tool, "is not a three-eighths Gripley. _This_," she bent down and picked up a very similar looking and only slightly less twisty tool, "is a three-eighths Gripley. It stops the elliptical cam from gradually sliding up the beam shaft and catching on the flange rebate while I work on it, because you know where it ends up otherwise?"

"Um, where?"

"_On my head!!!"_

"Have you fixed it yet?" asked Conina impatiently.

Byrony shot her a poisonous look, and crawled back into the dark hole.

"Let's take that as 'I'm close'," suggested Rincewind.

"We don't have time for this," exclaimed Conina, exasperated. "We need to tell Vetinari that we've failed!"

"Give Byrony a chance. She knows what she's doing."

"I don't think she understands-"

"She knows what she's doing," repeated Rincewind angrily. "You've led us for the most part and we followed your orders, but Byrony is the real leader of this troupe when it comes to this sort of thing. She knows more about these things then you ever will."

They glowered at one another. Twoflower shuffled nervously.

"I can hear you both, by the way." Byrony's voice echoed out from the darkness. "Just thought you ought to know."

Conina took a deep breath. "Listen, Byrony-"

But suddenly Byrony was scrambling out of the structure, grinning. "I did it! I am amazing! The doors are going to open! Move!"

Quickly, they all assembled before the giant doors, craned up expectantly and-

And then the floor gave way

* * *

High over the Disc, on a spire of green ice ten miles high which rises through the clouds, the all the gods whose eyes had been fixed on a playing board drew in a sharp breath.

The Lady smiled, her bright green eyes glowing form within. "I believe that the next turn in yours, Lord."

Fate drummed his fingers on the table, his chin resting on his other hand. The fact that they were playing with a new twist to the game meant that it was nearly impossible to tell who was winning, right up until someone won.

"Remember, no cheating, Lady."

"But who would cheat Fate?" she asked with a smile.

"No one. And yet everyone tries. Pass me the dice."

Fate rolled.

The gods leaned in…

A six. A three. A five.

"Ah. A good roll, do you agree?"

She nodded with the merest inclination of her head. So far, they had been neck-to-neck.

"Well then, let us see where our brave heroes are heading, shall we?" Fate waved a hand over the board. As one, the gods saw where the four were were to go next, and what lay in store for them.

"It would seem that what happens next shall determine the winner of the game," Fate said, mildly.

"So it would seem," the Lady said quietly. It had been a _good_ roll.

Fate scooped up the dice and glanced at her.

"Unless," he added, "you wish to resign?"

She shook her head.

"Play."

"You realise what will happen?"

"_Play_."

"As you wish."

And the gods leaned in once more…

* * *

It was utterly dark.

There had been a painful confusion of mud and tunnels and sliding dirt. Rincewind assumed- or the small part of him that wasn't gibbering with fear assumed- that they were underneath the 'cave'. Which had been a decoy after all it seemed. If someone had tried to blast their way through those doors, what would they have found? An empty room with 'Nyer nyer nyer nyer nyer!' written on the wall? Then he remembered what Byrony was saying about the High Priestess being a sly bitch, and reasoned that it probably would have been something a bit more unpleasant.

"I think I'm having a heart-attack," Rincewind informed the world in general

No reply. Where was everyone else?

Reaching out carefully, in case he felt something, he felt for something to feel.

"If that hand isn't attached to someone's arm," Byrony's voice warned, "there is going to be trouble."

"It's me," said Rincewind, relieved and still clutching her knee. "Are the others all right?"

There was a small groan from somewhere to his left, and someone coughed and spluttered as though they had been winded.

"Oh ye gods," moaned Conina. "I think I landed on a rock." There was no response from Twoflower, only hacking coughs. "Rincewind, how are you sounding so intact?"

"I dropped and rolled a lot of the way. And I'm used to falling. Used to unexpected falling. Used to every situation which results in falling, really."

"I think my spine is broken."

"Yes well, _I'm_ having a heart attack."

Twoflowers coughs petered off. "I think I'm all right now."

"No, no, no," insisted Rincewind. "You have a punctured lung. And whose fault is this?"

"Why, yes," said Conina, catching on. "Whose bright idea was it to try and get in without the jewel again?"

"Gosh," said Rincewind, scratching under his hat. "Let me see, who was it that suggested this again? Goodness me, I cannot think."

"All right, all right," said Byrony at ground level irritably. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know it was going to do that. All right? Are we all alright?"

"Well, I suppose my spine _might_ just be fractured," said Conina. Rincewind heard her stand up.

"Rincewind, how's your heart attack?" asked Byrony.

"It may be easing off a little."

"Twoflower? Punctured lung?"

"Oh, um, yes its fine now, thanks."

"Good. That's good. It's good that everyone is okay."

There was a pause that contained no sounds whatsoever of Byrony getting to her feet.

"Okay…so, shall we go then?" hinted Conina, just as Rincewind realised he was getting very a bad feeling in his gut.

"Ah. Well, there's the thing. I'm…I'm going to…I'm going to- gods I can't believe I'm saying this- I'm going to need Rincewind to carry me."

Rincewind's blood went cold. "What happened?" he asked through numb lips.

"Don't _panic_ would you! I just sort of…landed on my ankle. _Yes_, the dislocated one. It just stings a bit."

"Stings a bit?"

"Yes, honestly, it's really not that-" The torches in the tunnel chose that exact moment to flicker to life. "Bad," finished Byrony resignedly as they all gasped in horror.

Byrony had slid her boot off, and the lower part of her leg was exposed. One slender piece of bone was now protruding out of her inner left ankle, the flesh a ragged gash around it. Blood seeped slowly out and trickled down her foot. Her face was white in the dim octarine light.

"_Not that bad!?"_

"In my defense it did _not_ look this bad in the dark."

"Does it really hurt?" asked Twoflower, his eyes fixed on the piece of white bone sticking out from the red.

"_Nooo_," scoffed Byrony. "I just can't…I just don't think I can…" For a moment, she hung her head, panting deeply as she tried to regain control of the pain.

Rincewind sighed, bent down and scooped her up into his arms. "All right," he said quietly. "Which way are we going?"

"Follow the torches," Byrony instructed. Her voice didn't shake at all, but Rincewind could see the dark circles forming under her eyes again. "They'll lead us there."

Silently, they began walking along the dirt tunnel. There was no metal down here, and the air was damp and filled with an earthy taste. The torches flickered eerily, and it was best not to ask who had put them there, or how they had been lit…

Of course, Byrony being Byrony, she eventually started to talk. "You know, this is really the last stretch of the whole quest. It'll be easy. We'll probably just pick up the Orb and go. We'll probably just have to…answer a riddle or something. It'll be a cinch- Rincewind, why do you keep saying 'hah' under your breath?"

"Do I?" asked Rincewind grimly.

Despite the fact that Rincewind's cynicism was practically the fifth member of the group, the other three actually felt rather at ease around it. Many people who had got to know Rincewind had come to treat him as a sort of two-legged miner's canary, and tended to assume that if Rincewind was still upright and not actually running then some hope remained.

"You know," continued Byrony, "maybe we should have an evacuation plan."

"Run away," said Rincewind firmly.

"What, is that it?" asked Conina from the front of the line.

"Fine, run away _as fast as you can_."

"But where to?!" said Twoflower.

Rincewind sighed. He'd tried to make his basic philosophy clear time and time again, and people never got the message. "Don't worry about _to_. In my experience, _to_ always takes care of itself. The important word is _away_."

Byrony shifted in his arms. "If I'm getting heavy, drop me."

"Oh yes? Onto your broken ankle which doesn't hurt at all?" asked Rincewind testily.

Byrony had the decency to look embaressed. "Would you look at all these torches!" she exclaimed, changing the subject. "We're all lucky I'm wearing my modulator. All these lamps are lit by magic! I'd guess that the machinery is triggered by magic too… I tell you, if I didn't have my modulator on, this place would be a smoky hole in the ground!"

"Good riddance to it," said Conina moodily. She had taken a torch off the wall and was leading the way through the tunnel.

"I think that it's wonderful," said Twoflower dreamily. "I can't believe I'm actually a key member in a legend that will save the world! Maybe we'll have sagas written about us! We shall be immortal through the tales of our great deeds! We the few, the lone and the brave…wandering down an endless labyrinth in the depths of an underground cave."

Rincewind huffed impatiently "Yes, but is it _safe_, that's what I want to know." Some people achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But Rincewind had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.

Aside from all this, Byrony didn't look well at all. He kept casting furtive glances down at her, and she was growing paler by the minute. Oh no, what about loss of blood? Was she still bleeding? He couldn't see…

Right around then, what with Byrony being back in his arms again, he wondered what had become of his libido. He hadn't heard from it in a while, and thought that maybe it-

_So, er, hello._

Damn.

_Right, this is all your emotions talking here, okay? I've been outvoted. Look you have to-_

Listen, you. This is a completely inappropriate place for you to be popping up. Go on. Bugger off. We'll have a talk later.

_No, you don't understand-_

Listen, the woman this conversation is revolving around is very seriously injured!

_Exactly! That's my point! Your instincts had a vote in this too and they're telling you something, aren't they?! Rincewind, before it's too late, you have to-_

"Are you all right?" Rincewind looked down. Byrony was looking up at him with a terribly amused expression. "You look like you're attempting to unravel the secrets of time and space in your head."

"Yes, something like that… How're you doing?"

"Oh, you know," she said vaguely. "All right." Sure you are. And I'm the King of Oorugu, thought Rincewind glumly.

Byrony, on the other hand, was trying very hard not to be pleased with her current situation. She had no right to be pleased, she knew that. Lost in underground tunnels, dislocated ankle, possible end-of-the-disc scenario… But still…

She glanced up at the man who was holding her in his arms…

Rincewind the Wizard.

Socially inept.

Physically awkward.

Surprisingly quick-witted.

Endlessly nervous.

Witheringly sarcastic.

And…undeniably adorable.

"Stop!" called Conina suddenly from the front. "We have reached…a door."

"Duhn duhn _duuuuhn_!" said Byrony dutifully, mimicking the popular Moving Picture accompaniment to horror-films.

Leaning around Twoflower, Conina gave her a reproachful glance. "It's completely unlocked. Do I just go through?"

Byrony shrugged. "Where else are we going to go?"

Nodding, Conina wrapped her hand around the door handle and twisted. The door, which was wooden and ornately carved, swung open.

"Oh," said Twoflower. That summed it up, really.

Inside the room were thousands upon thousands of flickering candles. It hard a tall dome-like ceiling, and the floor was an intricate pattern of different colored slabs.

The wall was one endless mosaic of different scenes, presumably scenes of the Orb granting life to crops and animals. Set in the wall opposite to the door were four large, long arrows which were point up towards the ceiling.

In the centre of the room, facing the up-right arrows was a long, low, stone table with four small silk-cloth covered mounds. On the ground on the opposite side of the table to the arrows were four circles of tiles set into the floor. Blue, red, white and brown.

"I think," said Byrony slowly. "That we're meant to stand on those circles. Blue for water, I suppose…everyone take the element you had to go through to get a jewel."

"I don't like this," sighed Conina. "It's all getting a little bit too mythic for my liking."

They all walked into the room and Conina and Twoflower took their places.

Rincewind gently set Byrony on her feet on the blue tiles. "Are you sure you're all right? Can you stand?"

"I'll be fine," she said, grinning tiredly. "And you're right beside me if I fall, aren't you? I'll just grab you."

Nodding, Rincewind took his place on the red circle. "You do that."

As soon as all four sets of feet were touching the tiles, some unknown and unseen mechanism began to make a grinding noise, and the arrows at the far end of the room slowly lowered down so that they were now pointing at each person.

"Byrony?" said Rincewind out of the corner of his mouth. "Why the hell do I have a great big sharp piece of metal pointing at me?"

In response, Byrony leaned over the low table in front of them and whipped the silk cloth off whatever it concealed.

It was the Orb.

The others did the same. They all had Orbs too, globes of glass slightly larger then a fist which glowed gently in the dim room. Their colour matched that of the tiled circles they had been placed in front of.

"Great," said Rincewind suspiciously. "Four for one deal, is it? Fantastic. Lets take the lot and go."

"No, it's never that simple," said Twoflower, shaking his head. "In legends, it's never that simple."

"No," sighed Rincewind. "It never is, is it?"

"Obviously we have to choose which one is the real Orb," said Conina hesitantly, "but what are the arrows for?"

Twoflower scratched his head. "Uh, I suppose they're an incentive to choose _wisely_?"

Rincewind stared at the table in front of him, thinking…

"So, wait," said Conina, pinching her nose and panic rising in her voice. "Does this mean that whoever chooses wrong _dies_?"

"Not necessarily," said Byrony, trying to sound calm. "The profile of the priestess suggests that the shots would be fired at random. She would have considered the chance of an intelligent person dying for a stupid person's mistake a greater punishment then the stupid person dying for their own mistake."

"What a _bitch_."

"What happens," said Twoflower slowly. "What happens if, hypothetically I mean, someone were to step off the tiles and just run away?"

"Arrow in the back I'd imagine."

Conina took a deep breath. "So basically what you're saying is that we have a one in four chance of someone _dying_ today?"

"Uh, well, _more_ really, if you take into account that after one person dies, that's only one Orb eliminated-"

"That priestess was a _bitch_."

Byrony took deep breaths. "All _right_. All right. Okay, we can assume that the first person who takes the Orb _won't_ be shot. Now it comes down to who- Hang on, does anyone have any straws?"

"You're not serious. Tell me you didn't just say that."

Byrony raised an eyebrow at Conina. "Oh, I beg your pardon, clearly you have a better idea?"

"Well, look at the Orbs! Isn't there any markings or anything?"

"They're globes of _glass_!" shouted Byrony. "They all look the same! Besides, the Orb disappeared thousands of years ago, and even before that it wasn't exactly handed around for people to take _notes_!"

Conina put a hand over her eyes. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. But this is- I mean, this is _suicide_."

"I have some pieces of grass in my pocket," said Twoflower. "Here, I cut a short one." He held them up with an expression of determination on his face.

They looked at him.

Byrony suddenly looked sad. "Twoflower…I'm so sorry."

"Don't be silly. It isn't like _you_ stuck those arrows there is it? Now come one, take a piece of grass, there's a good girl." He leaned over, taking care not to lift his feet from the ground and offered her the grass. "Whoever gets the short one chooses an Orb. And, I guess, gets to live a little longer too. Here, take one."

Byrony took one. It was long.

Conina took one. It was long.

"Rincewind?" said Conina. Rincewind was still staring at the Orbs, rubbing his chin.

Four Orbs…

"Rincewind, you need to take a straw," prompted Byrony.

"I- What? Oh…" He leaned over.

_Please be the short piece,_ Byrony thought anxiously as his long thin fingers plucked one from Twoflower's hand. _Come on Rincewind, pick the short piece. Oh please pick the short piece. I don't think I could face it if-_

She inhaled sharply. It was long.

"Well done Twoflower," said Conina encouragingly.

"Looks like you get to live for this round, eh?" said Byrony in a mock-jovial voice. Why was Rincewind so quiet?

Twoflower looked miserable. "Maybe," he said, "I'll pick the right one and then no one will have to die."

"That'd be nice, certainly," said Rincewind vaguely. Byrony looked at him curiously. About five foot of metallic death could be coming his way and he seemed…distracted. This was _not_ Rincewind-like behaviour.

"All right," she said. "Twoflower, you need to take the first one. Pick an Orb."

"Er- Should I duck?" he asked nervously. "In fact, maybe we should all duck, you know?"

Byrony gave a sharp shake of her head. "You wont have time. Istanzia were messing with weapons back when everyone else was hitting each other with bits of rock. That arrow is going to come out _fast. _Besides, something tells me that our friend the priestess would have thought of that. There might be something nastier in store. Go on," she smiled, as encouragingly as she could in the circumstances, "pick an Orb, Twoflower."

Twoflower reached out a hand…

Suddenly, Rincewind waved his arms and yelled "WAIT! Stop! I've got it!"

The tension had been so bad in the room that now Byrony felt like she was the one having a heart attack. "What?! What?! What have you got?!"

"I know what it is!" he said earnestly. "It's a shell-game! You know? Like they set up on street corners in Ankh-Morpork? Four nutshells, a ball in one of them and they mix them up and you pick one!"

"Yes," said Conina impatiently. Twoflower wasn't even listening. He was examining the Orbs as if his (or someone else's) life depended on it. "We _know_ Rincewind. One of the Orbs is real, we just have to figure out which _one_."

"No _listen_. Outside on the cave there were _five_ slots for jewels." They looked blankly at him. He sighed impatiently. _"You_ three may know legends, but _I_ know a con when I see one. A con-man doesn't choose to play a shell game if there's _any_ possibility of him actually losing. The con isn't in getting you to pick the wrong shell, the con is in getting you to pick a shell at _all_. "

Conina looked confused, but light was dawning in Byrony's eyes.

Rincewind held up four fingers. "The ball isn't in the first cup." He lowered a finger. "It isn't in the second, or the third." He lowered two more. "The ball _isn't even in the fourth cup_." He lowered his hand and looked into Byrony's eyes.

"The ball is in the con man's palm the whole time."

Conina gasped. "None of the Orbs are real?"

Byrony's green eyes widened. "But that means that…no matter what we pick, someone will die!"

Then came the most worrying sound that anyone could possibly have chosen to make at that moment.

"Um…"

Their faces frozen, all three turned to Twoflower.

"Does that mean I shouldn't have picked this up?" he said, holding a faintly glowing Orb aloft.

Behind the wall, machinery began to whirr…

* * *

Nanny Ogg lent back from the table and let out a belch. "S'cuse me." She then reached out and hooked another pork-pie that had been provided for their comfort, and let out a sigh.

Granny Weatherwax, on the other hand, was showing no such signs of contentment. She was gazing out the window with a steely eye, barely touching the cup of tea that was rapidly cooling in her hand.

"I gotta admit," said Nanny, admiring the culinary skill that had seen fit to wrap the gleaming pastry around this fine piece of pork and gravy. "That whole thing with the wizards worked out well, eh? I mean, we knocked out most of Rowels's men, so there's still some passages for Byrony to come through. I suppose he's still spreadin' all that stuff about her, but nothing can be helped there…"

She looked over at her companion, who seemed to be casting vicious glances at an innocent saucer full of ink over on the sideboard.

"Esme," said Nanny reasonably. "You can't watch 'em the _whole_ time."

"Something's wrong," said Granny bluntly.

Nanny Ogg looked instantly disturbed. If Esme Weatherwax said that something was wrong, then something was most definitely wrong. And if something was wrong, then this did not bode well for the political state of the Disc in general. Not that Nanny Ogg cared for the Disc in general. She really only cared about the close bits that would affect her immediate livelihood, i.e the chance that her distillery could be shut down if Lancre was taken over.

Nanny Ogg shook her head. "I hate to say it, but p'raps we ought to cut our losses. At least, we ought to contemplate cutting them. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Rowel is planning something you know. I hears it in the hallways. The amount 'o gossip that's flyin' around, you wouldn't _believe_. I mean, as long as Byrony survives she can-"

"It aint that easy."

Granny Weatherwax turned to Nanny Ogg. "I been watching her Gytha. Of course," she added. "I aint been _meddling_. No one could accuse me of _meddling_"

"No Esme," said Nanny Ogg meekly.

"I'm not one to impose myself."

"No Esme."

"Never invited meself in when I wasn't wanted"

"No Esme."

"Never said a word out of place-"

"I've always said that about you."

"I was _talkin'_ Gytha."

"Sorry."

Silence descended.

Finally Granny turned to Nanny Ogg with a weary expression on her face.

"He loves her, Gytha. I watched 'em _both_. He loves her.... and I'm pretty damn sure that she loves him."

Nanny Ogg contemplated this. "Oh. Bugger."

"Right."

"She's likely to do something stupid then?"

Granny Weatherwax sighed. "I'm afraid," she said. "You're exactly right."

"When will we set off?"

Granny glanced down at her cup, and at the tealeaves floating to the surface. "We'd better-" Suddenly, she leaped up, her eyes wide. Shocked, Nanny jerked and her drink flew into the air and overturned.

"_We need to go now_!"

"That was nearly full. That was a nearly full drink," said Nanny reproachfully.

"Come on! Something's going to happen!"

"Best part of a whole glass of-"

"Gytha!"

"Did I say I wasn't coming? I was just pointing out-"

"Now!"

"Can't I just get another before-"

"_Gytha_! Something is _happening_!"

"Oh. I'll get the brooms."

* * *

For Rincewind, time had slowed like treacle.

One of the arrows was going to fire, but which one?

Of course! Suddenly Rincewind realised, the arrow was going to hit him. Why wouldn't it? Every moment in his life had lead up to this. The constant dear-death experiences, the running, the screaming, the dodging, the…well, all the times people had realised that they preferred him dead, basically. He had often wondered (but not too hard, in case it stopped working) how he managed to always stay one step ahead of death, and now he knew.

He was _meant_ to die here. He was _meant_ to die now. It was _fate_. As Rincewind realised this, a strange and not entirely unpleasant peace came over him. Well, perhaps he _was_ going to die, but it would save the others, wouldn't it?

It would save the woman he loved.

There are worse reasons to die.

He was right of course, but not in the way he imagined. It was Fate, because Fate was winning the game.

_It's going to be me_, thought Rincewind in a slightly detached way. _It's going to shoot me_.

Unfortunately, Byrony realised the same thing.

Moving faster then she ever had before, she threw herself in front of the only man who had ever listened, and gripped his robe.

"Rincewind," said Byrony urgently, looking up into his shocked face, and pressing her cold hand to his cheek.

"I'll wait for you, Rincewind. _I'll wait for y_-"

Before anyone could react, there was a sound that would haunt Rincewind's dreams for the rest of his life. Considering the life that had Rincewind led, and the many unpleasant sounds that he had heard, it was peculiar that this one should cause him to lose so much sleep.

It was a _thunk_, and the soft shirring of an arrow coming through the air…

Followed by the most singularly unpleasantly _organic_ sound any of the three had ever heard.

There was a gasp.

Byrony fell to the ground.

* * *

"Well, I didn't think _that_ would happen," said Blind Io, a little startled.

As one, the Gods drew back from the board, letting out sighs of disappointment. It had been a good game, but now it seemed to be over.

Offler, the crocodile god scratched his scales. "Well, I shuppose that wash a shtroke of…well, you know…"

Fate coughed. "It would seem," he said slowly to the Goddess sitting before him "That you have kept your piece. My congratulations. According to the rules set down, my Lady, you have won the Game."

But the Lady didn't move her bright, glowing green eyes from the playing board.

The Gods, as has already been pointed out, play games other than chess with the fates of mortals and the thrones of kings.

And it is important to remember that they always cheat, right up to the end...

She said: "Wait."

* * *

"Rincewind!" Conina was shaking him urgently, as bits of rock fell from the ceiling, and the room shook around them. "Rincewind, we have to leave!"

The place was old. No one had been inside for hundreds of years and now, ancient metal had been forced into action, grinding against rust that had long since solidified. The shooting of the arrow had caused gears to grind, springs to act and mechanical equations, established hundreds of years ago, to spring into action. The cave was shaking, and lumps of masonry were falling all around, cracking the intricate tiles on the ground.

Rincewind was on his knees, clutching the cold, motionless body, which had once been so full of life in a way that nothing else ever would be.

"The whole place is collapsing!" cried Twoflower. "Rincewind, come on!"

Rincewind muttered something unintelligible.

Conina yanked on his robe. "Come on! We have to _run_!"

Rincewind looked up at her, and the emptiness in his eyes made her reel away.

"_No_" he said. "_I won't_."

* * *

Back at Winslow Manor, things were going much more accordingly to plan.

One by one, the wizards were picking off Rowel's men.

It was like shooting fish in a barrel really, except that (as the Senior Wrangler pointed out) fish weren't as much fun because they didn't provide a moving target. Now wizards were having the time of their lives popping out behind corners and catching the thin slimy men unawares with obscure spells that hadn't been aired in ages.

The problem was, that in Ankh-Morpork the wizards had a certain understanding with the citizens that no one would be turned into toads on the event of their cheeking a wizard provided that no one would ever cheek a wizard. While this understanding was occasionally breached, it had enough respect in the local community that people would begin to complain should every wizard begin to point his staff at every lay-person who looked at him side-ways.

Now, they were able to let off some steam, as it were.

"Hah! Eat dust, Pig-mother!" screamed the Lecturer in Recent Runes as he sent a rather gaudy looking purple spell in the direction of a rapidly retreating man in a dark suit. He rounded a corner pursued by the spell, and after a moment there was a burst of sequins.

The other wizards clapped appreciatively.

"Seven out of ten," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies approvingly.

"Six and a half," said the Senior Wrangler.

"Ook," said the Librarian.

"Four," said the Dean sulkily. He wasn't allowed to shoot anybody on account of his use of another fireball, which had taken out most of the seventh floor's wallpaper.

The trick was to balance your spell with the large atmosphere of magic already in the vicinity. Though Byrony was still wearing her modulator, this didn't mean that the build up of magic from all her years staying at the manor instantly dissipated, so the wizards had to use their rather questionable genius to locate non-lethal spells which could be used lethally, as it were. And of course, the wizard in charge of this was…

"What next, Stibbons?" said the ArchChancellor cheerily, rolling up his sleeves. "Haven't done this much conjurin' since I was in first year!"

Ponder Stibbons peered at the large lexicon which was resting upon the Bursar's back, and nervously turned a page, aware that if a spell happened to turn every living organism within a three mile radius into a caterpillar, he'd be the one to blame, flares or no flares.

They had polished off quite a few of Rowel's men through the sheer art of guerrilla warfare, and were now merely picking off the rest for sport.

Ponde pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. "Um- might I suggest Spidwell's Obscure Doves, ArchChancellor?"

Ridcully nodded, and grinned. "Obscure doves, eh?" he said, catching sight of a fleeing figure. "This should be interesting!"

He waved his hands and-

Theoretically, doves should have begun to materialise from every biological orifice that the man in black had upon his person, creating an amusing situation with much flapping, running and screaming, but in this case a very disappointing grand total of absolutely nothing happened.

Ridcully peered at his fingers. "Should I have used my staff? Stibbons! What the hell is going on?"

Ponder had already pulled out his thaumometer, and was rubbing it anxiously with a sleeve. "Er- I'm getting a negative reading of magic, ArchChancellor! But- but that can't be right, can it? What could cause a _vacuum_ for _magic_?"

"A negative reading? _Less_ then one thaum of magic? Can't happen lad. Just isn't possible."

"I assure you ArchChancellor," Ponder said hotly, "that it is happening right now. What could cause this?"

Ridcully scratched under his hat. "Well, I can only think of one thing lad, and that's-" His expression froze. "Oh…oh no…"

"ArchChancellor? What is it?!"

"We need to talk to Vetinari. _Now_."

* * *

Just as the great cave seemed to collapse in on itself, sending plumes of dust into the twilight of the evening, three figures ran out, one stumbling a little further behind. They collapsed on the ground just as the cave fell, and all that was left to mark its existence was a suspicious pile of rubble. No doubt, one day legends would be told of what lay beneath that pile, and foolish young men with horses would set off from their homeland to this very spot in an attempt to seek their fortune. For the moment, however, it was simply a marker for a tragedy.

Rincewind scrambled to his feet, his eyes wild. He began hauling rocks, throwing bent metal, scraping away dirt and pushing boulders.

"Rincewind," said Conina uneasily. "Rincewind, what are you doing?"

"We have to get her out," he panted. "Come on and help me! We have to get her out!"

Twoflower gently tried to take his arm, but Rincewind shook him off. "There's still air down there," he muttered to himself as he blindly dug through the rubble. "She'll be fine. Just dig her out and she'll be fine."

He wasn't crying because, hah, there was nothing to cry about! She's down there, but they'd dig her out and she'd be _fine_! Nothing to it! The arrow wound probably hurt a bit, and that's why she hadn't run out with the rest of them, but doctor Lawn would fix her up in no time! An Igor! They'd get an Igor!

She'd be just _fine_!

Mindless to the scrape of the sharp rocks, the bent metal and to the cuts he was digging into his hands, Rincewind continued to plough through the rubble, unaware that he was never going to dig down far enough.

Twoflower and Conina watched him in silence.

"We have to stop him. It's so sad."

Conina glanced over, and saw that Twoflower was quietly crying. "She was so young," he continued, shaking his head. "So young and full of life."

"Yes. Also, we have to get back to the manor to tell Vetinari we failed."

Twoflower turned to her, his mouth an _O_ of astonishment. "Byrony's _dead_," he said. "And _that's_ your first reaction?"

"We have a job to do," she snapped. "We were entrusted to do it. Thousands, maybe millions of people are depending on us. The fate of the disc has been entrusted to us, and we can't sacrifice the disc in the memory of one person who's already dead. Now, I liked her as much as you did but we- _ye gods,_ _what's that?_"

Suddenly aware that the lecture on duties to the state had taken a fairly odd turn, Twoflower spun around just in time to see two women clothed in midnight descend from the sky. "Witches," he breathed, and wondered if it would be bad taste to take an iconograph.

Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg landed as gracefully as elderly broomsticks and a fine evening breeze would allow, and strode across the clearing to Conina and Twoflower. Well, Granny Weatherwax strode, while Nanny Ogg sort of scuttled at a high speed.

"What's going on?" demanded Granny, eyes narrowed. "I _demand_ to know what's happening. Where's Byrony?"

"Yes, well, so do I!" said Conina defiantly. "Who are you? How do you know Byrony."

Granny paused. "We're…her…"

"Godmothers," said Nanny promptly. "Pleased to meet you luv. My, aren't you a well built young lass!"

"Well?" Granny Weatherwax, who was not to be derailed from her line of investigation, glared at the pair. "Where is she?"

As one, Twoflower and Conina turned to the rubble, where Rincewind was still hopelessly scrabbling.

"Ah," said Granny Weatherwax.

Nanny sighed. "Damn me, but we're too late. The poor girl. I hadn't figured I'd be sayin' goodbye to her at this time of life."

"She's dead then?" asked Granny. "Not just buried?"

Twoflower nodded mournfully. "She was shot with an arrow. It's my fault. The room with the Orb was booby trapped."

Granny's eyes, which seemed to have been looking at something far away, suddenly focused. "You didn't get the Orb?" she asked sharply.

"Er- that is-I mean-"

"We had to choose one Orb," interjected Conina defensively. "_One_ Orb out of a four, and none of them were even the real Orb! We picked the wrong one, and the arrow shot and the whole place collapsed!"

"And it hit Byrony?"

"Well, yes but – "

"Quickly girl, I haven't got all day!"

"That is, it wouldn't have, but – "

"_Talk_!"

"Rincewind!" Conina blurted. "It was meant to hit Rincewind but then Byrony jumped in front of him and _now she's dead_!"

Conina sagged with the sadness washing over her. She had faced hoards of barbarians, fought pirates and smugglers and had even walked down the Shades in Ankh-Morpork without breaking a sweat. But none of this, _none_ of it, could have prepared her for being pinned down by Granny Weatherwax's steely glare.

"No Orb." Granny shook her head. "A young girl dead and no Orb. Well, we got to get back to the manor. The weaselly fella is up to something and we need a new plan."

"I said that," said Conina irritably, quickly wiping away what could have been tears. "I said we should do that." But Granny was looking at Rincewind, whose hands were now cracked and bleeding as he shifted the stones.

Suddenly, she walked over to him, watched him for a moment and then grabbed his arm and hauled him out onto the grass. "Come on, you. You're a weaselly man too, good with words in a tight spot to boot. Come on now, good boy."

Rincewind stumbled along, as if he had lost all use of his legs. His eyes, wide and unseeing, cast about wildly. "No, you see, we have to _dig_. We have to dig and get her out, we-"

"She's dead."

"No, we just have to move some rocks, that's all. She'll be f-"

"She's dead, Rincewind."

"No, but you see, if we get her out she'll be _fine_, we just-"

The blow was unexpected, and it hit the side of Rincewind's face like a wave crashing onto the shore. He fell to the ground, and looked up at the old woman, shocked that one hand could deliver so much pain. Granny looked at him, and saw some sense creep back into his eyes.

"She won't be fine," she said softly.

"I know," said Rincewind, and he hung his head.

"Come on. We got plenty of ground to cover before we get back to the big house." She turned to the others, who had been watching in silent shock, except Nanny who had seen an opportunity and had taken out her pipe.

"Gytha, you go ahead and warn him who wears all that black-"

"The Patrician?" asked Twoflower.

"That's who I mean," said Granny testily. "Tell him they didn't get the Orb. You two ride on those horses. We got to get there before Rowel does whatever his ratty little fingers are itching to do."

Nanny nodded briskly and climbed onto her broom. "Wait," said Conina. "What about Rincewind?"

"Oh I 'spect he'll fly with me," said Granny airily. "We ought to get there just after Gytha."

Nanny winked at her. "You got a plan Esme?"

"I might do," conceded the witch.

"Well, that's all right then. See you in a mo!" Nanny Ogg flew off into the sky like a rather dumpy raven.

Conina and Twoflower mounted their horses uncertainly. Conina mounted uncertainly because she wasn't at all sure about these two sly old women with their formidable pointed hats. Twoflower mounted uncertainly because he had never been very good at mounting horses in the first place.

They cast one last glance back at Granny Weatherwax and Rincewind.

"Take care of him, won't you?" said Twoflower anxiously. "He acts all cynical, but he's a very delicate soul, really."

Granny Weatherwax and Conina exchanged Looks. It was possibly a very good thing that Rincewind didn't hear that last remark.

"He'll be fine, now be off the pair of you!" Granny waved her hand, and suddenly the horses reared up and galloped away into the quickly darkening woods.

She and Rincewind were left alone. He wasn't crying, he was just…sitting there. Staring at the ground, defeated.

"Shes's really dead?" he asked heavily, not lifting his head.

"Yes."

"I… I wish she wasn't."

"It's likely she feels the same."

Silence.

"Get up." Granny Weatherwax glared down at him, arms folded.

"What's the point? She's dead," said Rincewind hollowly.

"Oh? You think when one person dies, the world stops turnin', do you?"

"She died because of that Orb and we _still_ didn't get it. It's over."

"No. It aint over, not yet. Not by a long shot."

"Rowel will get the throne, or the presidency or whatever, and then he'll get his army," said Rincewind in an empty voice. "Then he'll have the Disc in the palm of his hand."

"No, he won't," said Granny firmly. "The reason being, you're going to stop him."

Rincewind snorted. "Fine. I'll stop him shall I? I'll stop him, the disc will be saved, there'll be speeches parties and parades and dancing and none of it will matter because _she'll still be dead_."

Silence descended in the peaceful grove. All that could be heard was the faint rustlings of the wind in the leaves, and the distant sound of a tree falling, believing that it was smugly proving that it still made a noise despite the fact that there was none around to hear. It was quite despondent when it discovered, some time later, that there had been two humans in the vicinity at the time, thus disproving its theory.

"I see," said Granny finally. "You're being selfish."

"Selfish?!" spluttered Rincewind, who had expected a different and far more empathetic reaction.

"Abandoning the world for no good reason? I calls that selfish."

"No good reason? _No good reason_?"

"We have a _duty_!"

Rincewind fell silent. Somehow that single sentence seemed to make all opposing argument sound weak and petty.

"Later, you will mourn," said Granny. "Later, you'll grieve. Then you'll go on with your life. I know it, I seen it often enough. And at times," she continued, softer now. "At times her absence will hit you, like a blow in the chest, and you'll mourn her again. It'll happen less and less as time goes on, but it will happen. You have all the time in the world."

She looked at him. "_Later_ you will mourn the dead. Give _now_ to the living."

Rincewind shook his head slowly, as if he had no strength left in his soul. "I can't."

Finally Granny's patience, always in short supply, ran out. "_Get up off that ground this instant!"_

The order bypassed Rincewind's brain and went directly to his legs, which had a strong instinct for self-preservation. Rincewind scrambled upright, and stood quivering at attention.

Granny Weatherwax _looked_ at him.

Looking into Granny's eyes was like looking into a mirror. What you saw looking back at you was yourself, and there was no hiding place.

"Do you think that Byrony died just so you could mope around feeling _sorry_ for yourself?" snapped Granny.

"No miss!"

"It's Mistress! No, she died so you'd go on and save the disc!"

"Yes Mistress!"

"And what are you doing?"

"Er-"

"Being selfish!"

"Being selfish Mistress!"

"Right. Now what are we going to do?"

"Save the disc?"

"And who are we doing it for?"

"We…Byrony…" Rincewind sagged a little, but struggled upright again. He remembered Rowel, how he had clutched Byrony's wrist at the ball. He remembered the butterflies.

Rincewind's jaw tightened. "We're going to destroy that bastard for Byrony."

Granny paused. If you were interested in people… "Because?"

Rincewind closed his eyes, remembering how she had looked in the corridor, with the light streaming around her. Remembering her laugh. Remembering a moment when his hand had touched her skin, and he had felt her heart beating.

"Because I loved her."

Granny nodded, satisfied. It was nice to be right. "Well, what are you waitin' for? Get on the broom."

Rincewind suddenly snapped back to the present.

"Get on the _what_?"

* * *

Somewhere, on the other side of nothing, there is a desert. Its sand is dark and fine, and it stretches out beyond infinity. It is always night in this desert, and the dark sky is void of stars.

It is simply black.

Byrony waited patiently.

A door shaped light suddenly appeared, its blue glow sending a beam across the ink stained sand. Through the door stepped a tall, cowled figure, its scythe a thing of terrible beauty, its mere silhouette a nightmare that could strike fear into the hearts of all men…

"Goodness, fancy seeing you here!" said Byrony, straight-faced.

OH NO, said Death, shaking his head, his voice the sound of slabs of lead banging together. I _REALLY_ DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, YOU KNOW. WHAT HAPPENED _THIS_ TIME-

Then suddenly, he looked worried. Or as worried as a skeleton with absolutely no facial expressions can look. He reached into his robe and pulled out a silver egg-timer.

After a small pause, he said OH.

"Yes," sighed Byrony. "Who'd have thought it, eh?"

I THOUGHT- WELL, AFTER THAT TIME IN UBERWALD…

"No. This time I'm _really_ dead."

I SEE. I'M SORRY.

"_You're_ sorry?" said Byrony glumly. "Uncle Havelock will be _furious_."

WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO. YOU MUST WALK THE DESERT.

Byrony took a look around. A soft wind blew, and it was utterly silent. She picked up a handful of fine, black sand and let it seep through her fingers. "No…no I don't think I will," she said.

Death paused. I'M AFRAID YOU MUST.

"I don't think I do, actually. I don't _have_ to walk, do I?" She looked questioningly at Death, who remained stoic.

"No," she said satisfactorily. "I didn't think I did." She settled down on the sand, getting comfortable.

BUT WHAT WILL YOU DO? asked Death, perplexed. This was highly unorthodox. YOU HAVE TO WALK, BYRONY. YOU CAN'T STAY HERE FOREVER.

Byrony looked shocked. "Oh, I'm not staying here forever!" she said. "Ye gods, how boring would _that_ be?! I'd rather be stabbed in the face with a pencil!"

THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

"Well…" Byrony looked up.

In that vast desert, where the sand is as black as night, as fine as water and which stretches on for centuries, the sky is completely black…

Except…

One by one the stars were coming out.

They speckled the night like diamonds scattered across black velvet, twinkling gently in the clear sky.

Smiling, Byrony lay back, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers behind her head. "I'm waiting for someone," she said softly.

And she began to count the stars.


End file.
